


Blood and Moon

by kinginspanx



Series: Immortal Soulmates [1]
Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, M/M, Story should go all the way from Young Merlahad till TGC, Vampire | Harry, Werewolf | Merlin, Young Merlahad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-11
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2019-01-31 20:18:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12689505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinginspanx/pseuds/kinginspanx
Summary: Harry Hart was a 19-year-old young Lord of the Hart family when he was turned into a Vampire. Chester King, the present Arthur and a colleague of Harry's father--the late Agent Tristan, saw a potential in Harry's dark power and decided to recruit him as Galahad. Little did Harry know, his adventure as Galahad would unite him with a young werewolf who would become his most trusted partner, his confidant, and most importantly, his immortal soulmate.





	1. The Prince of Darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The work is not beta-d yet, and I'm not a native English speaker. So, sorry if there's some grammatical mistakes here and there. I'm a sucker for vampires and werewolf and couldn't stop shitty-writing about them even if I wanted to.
> 
> *UPDATE: Turns out my mind is clusterfuck of narrative. I kept jumping off from the past, KSS, and TGC time and writing down the ideas because I'm just too impatient to wait and write till I get there. So, I will be publishing two separate works instead and group them in a series called "Immortal Soulmates". This one will reserved for Young Merlahad (Pre Kingsman The Secret Service). And the second one called "Come Back to Me" will explore the events during and post TGC.

**1975**

Harry Hart was born in riches and nobility. His family was one of the oldest and richest British noble families, with century old manor to add to the clichés. His mother died giving birth to him. And his father passed away when he was 15. Although the latter did not affect him that much. Considering Harry’s father was mostly absent throughout most of his life.

Sometimes Harry wondered if his father intentionally avoided him because he reminded him of his mother. Harry was sure no tailor—however diverse his clientele might be—would be required to travel the world as frequent—and as far—as his father did.

Harry Hart grew up under the care of his family’s loyal butler, Stephen. Until come the age where he was ready to be sent off to a Swiss boarding school so his father could further dispose of the already-so-little time he was required to spend with him during his time off-work.

So when a mysterious man—claiming to be a colleague of his father—presented himself in the office of Harry’s headmaster and bore him the news of his father demise, Harry was hardly troubled. Nor did he shed any tear in private.

Instead, he was more intrigued by the mysterious gentleman who ridiculously claimed himself to be a tailor—just like his father—when his built could well pass him off as a high ranking army officer. Harry was a little insulted that the man thought that he would accept such an obvious trickery from him. Alas, the man disappeared quick enough to be just a fleeting stranger in Harry’s life. And Harry’s inherited obligations came quickly enough to occupy most of his 15-year-old mind.

 

* * *

 

 

**1976**

 

After what seemed like an eternity of boring and arduous formalities—a funeral filled with a mixed of rich strangers and even more mysterious men claiming to be his father’s colleague in the tailor business—Harry decided to quit school and travel the world to become a lepidopterist. It was a practical decision. He inherited enough money to lavishly fund the rest of his life, and the return from the active investment of his assets was more than enough to finance three generations after him—he did the math. So Harry thought, what stopped him from doing what he loved most when money was literally not a problem?

At 16, Harry Hart left England to travel the world as a lepidopterist. Seating inside his private jet across the Atlantic, on his way to the Amazon, he wondered what he would name his first species of new butterfly. The young master of the house of Hart was filled with dreams, hope and ambition. Little did he know, darkness and evil awaited him in the vast and deep jungle of Amazon—waiting for its precious prey.

 

* * *

 

 

**1979**

 

At 19, Harry Hart kneeled in haunting silence in the dark underground chamber—his hands and legs were tightly chained to the stony ground. Standing before him was the mysterious man whom he recognized to be the news bearer of his father’s death. He could feel and smell the presence of another human in the chamber, but he kept himself hidden in the dark.

Harry looked up and found the man’s eyes to greet him with a mix of sympathy and cold guarded-look. Then he noticed that the man was holding a Tokarev in his right hand—his fingers gripped tightly into the trigger.

“Where am I?” Harry found himself whispering in the darkness.

Harry’s mind was foggy. He couldn’t remember how he got into where he was, or the state that he was in. In fact, he could hardly remember most things now. The darkness so often overtook his mind that he could hardly call his life his own.

But he did remember what happened one month ago. He remembered how it changed him. He knew what he was now, what he had done since changed, and whom had fallen as his victims. For most of the time his consciousness was overtaken by the darkness, the evil made sure it left Harry the vivid memory of his gruesome killings.

And... he remembered Stephen.

“Stephen...” said Harry while holding back tears. “Is he...”

“He’s alive”, said the man. “He’s in critical condition, but alive”.

Harry couldn’t help himself from breathing a gasp of relief the same time he felt a sharp pain of guilt pierced his heart. He almost killed the person who was as close to a father to him. The only man who had cared for him throughout all of his life. The only person in the world whom he regarded as a family.

But the darkness inside Harry—the curse that he bore—saw Stephen as nothing but a meal. A fresh prey just like any other living human who was unlucky enough to cross their paths with the monster that Harry was now. Harry almost killed the only person he had ever cared for because he was _hungry_.

“Kill me...” whispered Harry.

The young man looked up to meet the man’s eyes before him.

“Please... kill me…”, he pleaded.

Harry could see sadness in his eyes, but more so, he could _feel_ the bitter sympathy in his heart. An ability that came with his dark curse—to read the human’s minds and to peek into his heart. It was a predatory tool for him to catch his prey easier, of course.

“Kill you? Why that would be a terrible waste of precious resource, wouldn’t it?”

Harry’s ears tingled at the familiar voice. He had heard that voice before—that cold, privileged tone. Then the man finally presented himself and stood beside the other man with a smug smile.

“Mr. Hart, it seemed that you have been blessed with a rare evolutionary gift”.

Harry remembered the man from his father’s funeral. He was around the same age as his father, albeit a little older. And from how his peers acted around him in the funeral, Harry presumed the man to be the leader of whatever organization his father and him were involved in. He remembered the man to have introduced himself as Chester King.

“Blessed?!” Harry harshly scoffed. “Have you not seen what I’ve—I’m a fucking monster!”

King tilted his head and gave him a coy smile. “Well, that is _one_ way of looking at your condition—”

Harry did not intend on letting out a horrifying growl when he stood up to meet the man’s eyes. But the sound that came out of him was scary enough to alarm both men in front of him to pick up their guns and levelled them at his direction.

“Easy there, Harry...” said Chester.

Harry took a moment to draw a long breath and calm himself. His hands trembled as the darkness started to creep into his mind. He had to fight with every inch of his life to swallow down the urge to kill the men before him.

“Listen… I don’t know who you _really_ are, or what secret organization you’re actually working for—but what I _am_... is nothing but danger to humans.”

Harry could feel the darkness inside him starting to permeate and swiftly dropping the temperature of the chamber. He could see the red light of his eyes reflected on the pupils of the two men before him.

“You have to kill me!” He gritted his teeth and winced when he felt his own fangs sharply grazing his lips.

“Please... I don’t want to hurt anymore people...” Harry pleaded.

He was so tired of watching himself mercilessly killing all of those people, of hating the monster that he was now. He had had enough of losing himself to the darkness—not able to control his own actions. He tried to kill himself by burning himself under the sun, and for a second it worked. But then he woke up alive and even more powerful. And now there was almost nothing that could harm or kill him.

Chester narrowed his eyes at Harry. And for a strange moment, Harry wondered at the silence between them. He could read the other man’s thoughts, he was alarmed, afraid, and sad for Harry at the same time. But Chester... Harry couldn’t hear anything from him—like it was blurred out. Then Chester lowered his gun.

“You know what I see, Mr. Hart?” Chester curved up a playful smirk at the end of his lips.

“I see a young man with potential”. Chester moved closer towards Harry.

Harry was appalled by the daring move Chester made. He was close enough for Harry to either bite his neck or rip his heart out. But Chester was as calm as the night sea.

“A young man who was given a great power. Who can do impossible things that no man could achieve, and who does not want to hurt people”.

Harry jerked at Chester’s touch. The warmth of a human touch was starting to become alien to him. He could hear Chester’s colleague jerking his gun at him. But Chester did not back down and instead gave Harry a serene gaze.

“Tell me _Harry_... Do you want to stay a monster, or would you like to follow your Father’s footsteps, and use your power for something good?”


	2. The Werewolf

**1979**

Hamish collapsed in his bed. He struggled to take off his polo shirt as he writhed around the mattress. He was burning up. He could feel his sweat was starting to soak the sheet. His breaths were falling short. He wondered if he was dying. It sure felt like it. His head was hit with a throbbing pain. All of the muscles in his body felt like they were stretched till the point of breaking. Hamish stuffed his face on top of his pillow to drown out his scream, so his parents wouldn’t hear him. He was in enough pain already, he didn’t need his father coming to his room—with his disgusting Scotch stench—telling him to _man up_ and suck up the pain.

Suddenly Hamish heard a crack from inside his body. He screamed into the pillow so hard just before finally losing consciousness from the unbearable pain.

 

* * *

 

Hamish woke up the next day from a loud barging knock on his door. He winced from the noise as it pierced his ears like a bomb just exploded near him.

“Hamish!!! Woke up, lad! Ye’ll be late for school”.

“Fuck!” he cursed in his bed.

His mother’s voice was so loud that Hamish felt his eardrums were going to explode. Thankfully she left quick enough to let Hamish save himself from being deaf.

Hamish took a deep breath and let himself a moment to gather his thoughts. _What the fuck happened last night?_ He remembered getting bitten by a strange man who looked like he had just been beaten to bits. He remembered running away from the man as he shouted, “You’re the alpha now, boy!”, and started to feel sick on his way home. He remembered burning up.

Hamish eyes widened. _Fuck, did he gave me rabies?!_ He swiftly put his hand on his forehead to feel his temperature. It was normal and Hamish let out a relieved sigh. He didn’t feel any pain in his body too. So he thought that the sleep had taken care off whatever flu shock he had last night.

Satisfied from the lack of pain and fever. Hamish curled in his bed and stretched out all of his limbs. He let out a groan, but was shocked at the thunderous growl that came out of his mouth. It got him jumping from his bed and almost dropping to the floor.

Hamish looked around his room to search if the noise might had come from someone or some _thing_ other than him. But he was alone. There wasn’t anyone in his room but stacks of Hamish’s sketch papers of his machine designs, and a growing mountain of prototypes he had been making this past summer holiday.

Still confused, Hamish decided to groan again and second check if the noise really did come from him. He sat on the edge of his bed, stretched his arms up and let out a groan. What came out was an even louder and wilder growl that made the hair on his back stood to an end.

“What the fuck?!” snapped Hamish as the noise startled him to get up from his bed.

That’s when he noticed that not only he just growled like a fucking lion, his voice sounded so much heavier than it did yesterday.

“Hello...” said Hamish as he listened to his new voice.

It sounded matured, heavy and a bit raspy. He sounded like one of those Old Hollywood movie stars in the black and white pictures that smoked a ton of cigarettes. He coughed and tried to swallow. Maybe it’s because he just woke up from a flu. His voice already changed last year, so he hardly thought that it could break again.

“Hello... hello...” Hamish tried his new voice again.

It still sounded as deep, heavy and raspy as before. Hamish stroke his thick black hair in confusion. His eyes strayed to the clock hanging on the wall on top of his cupboard. That’s when he noticed that the clock seemed closer to him. He needn’t to look up to check the time as he did before—like he was almost at the same level, nor did he need his glasses to see the numbers.

In his confusion, Hamish felt his chest started to itch. He brought his hand up to scratch it. Then he felt a strange brush of hair from what used to be a smooth and clean surface. Hamish looked down to check. And to his horror, he found his chest massively covered in thick, black, luscious chest hair.

“What in the bloody—”

He rushed to the mirror in his room, beside his study desk. And when he stood in front of it, he almost fell down from the shock of seeing his own reflection. Hamish could recognize his thick eyebrows, his big green eyes, and his long nose in the face that was reflected back at him in the mirror. But other than that, it was like looking at an entirely different person. His clean cut jaw and pointy chin were covered in thick, black beard that looked like it should have needed two months to grow. Strangely enough, his moustache was not as thick as the rest of his beard, in fact, it was merely a short stubble.

Hamish looked in horror at mirror as he let his hand ran through the thick fur on his chest, and traced it down as the hair spread out all around his stomach and started to thicken again just above the tip of his underwear.

As Hamish eyes followed his hand across his body. He noticed the bulk of meat under the black fur. Hamish poked his chest and found the mass to be really firm and hard.

“Jesus Christ...” he snapped.

That’s when he noticed that it wasn’t just his chest that suddenly grew muscles. Hamish was two times larger and three times bulkier—and about 20 cm taller—than he was yesterday. Hamish was skinny, lanky boy who couldn’t even do a pull up. Now he looked like one of those overgrown boys in his school rugby players that spent ¾ of their days in the school gym. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

Hamish flexed his arms, and his mouth went wide when his biceps bulged like wild. His biceps were so big that it made his arms looked as big as his thighs used to be. Not only that, when he breathed in, his stomach flexed and showed a fully sculpted 6 packs.

“This—this is not happening... I’m... I’m dreaming...” Hamish started to panic.

“Hamish!!! Have ye showered?! Ye’re gonna be late, son!”

His mother’s voice pierced his ears again like a trumpet. Hamish felt like his heart almost stopped from the shock.

“In—in a minute!” he shouted back.

 _School, right...._ Hamish tried to calm his breathing and looked around for hid towel. On his way to the door, he caught a glance of his fully bearded face and buffed up body. “Fuck! How am I gonna go tae school looking like this?!”

Hamish crept silently to the bathroom. He didn’t want his mom catching him looking like one of those Scottish drunks she served all the time in the bar. When he was safe and inside the bathroom, he locked the door and let out a sigh.

His attention turned to the sink and found his father’s razor sitting on top of it. _Right, a fucking shave._ Hamish thought. He could cover up his chest hair under his uniform, but the beard would be a dead giveaway. His facial hair was already starting to grow at the start of the year, but it was no way near a fully grown and thick beard like the one on his face right now.

Hamish quickly applied the foam to his beard. Then he impatiently shaved it of his face. He was running late, and he didn’t want to risk his mother coming up to the bathroom and rush him out to school, and finding him like this.

“Oww!” Hamish flinched as he cut a little line on his jaw with the razor.

He quickly washed the foam and splinter of blood from his face. Only to find that the cut was closing itself like it just rapidly heal in seconds. Hamish squinted his eyes at the mirror, his hand went to trace the cut but it was already closed, like it was never cut at all.

“This is tae fucking weird...” he murmured to himself.

Then things went even freakier when Hamish took off his underwear and found his cock to be twice as big as it was yesterday.

“Oh my God!!!” he shouted in his deep, heavy voice.

 

* * *

 

 

Hamish struggled to fit himself inside his school uniform—a short-sleeved polo shirt. When he finally was able to fit inside, he looked like one of those big body builders who purposely wear tight clothes to show off their muscles.

Hamish’s body was so bulked up and muscular, his pecs were bulging up his polo shirt like a balloon. Not to mention his deltoids and biceps were so big that they sculpted his polo shirt without giving his skin a room to breath. Hamish could even see his muscles flexing around when he moves from the contours it painted on his polo shirt.

He had to steal his father’s black trousers. Because not only he couldn’t fit his massive and muscular thighs in his regular trousers, he found that the uniform was too short to cover his legs now that he’s taller.

Hamish stood in front of the full-length mirror in his room and tried to push down his chest hair that were sprouting from underneath his polo shirt. He’d already buttoned the shirt all the way up, but the fur kept peeking out because it was just too thick. He finally gave up and put an oversized hoodie instead to hide his new bulky figure.

When he finally went downstairs, his mother was already waiting at the dining room with a glare on her eyes. Hamish could only wish she was too mad at him to notice his changes.

“Ye’re late!”

“I know mum, I’m going now”, said Hamish.

Then he noticed a look on his mother’s face. _Fuck! My voice!_

“What’s wrong with yer voice?” she asked.

“Nothing, it’s just... a cold”, Hamish lied.

“Are ye having a fever?” His mother came up to him and placed her hand on his temple.

Hamish promptly back away before his mother noticed or put her hands on Hamish’s big muscular arms. “No, I’m fine. Just a little cough. It’ll be gone in a few days”.

Hamish’s mother tilted her head and looked confused. “Did ye grow a little taller...?”

Hamish panicked and quickly head out to the door. “I’m running late, bye mom!”

 

* * *

 

Hamish knew that he could make it to school without being late because he was running at a speed that was humanely impossible. But he couldn’t worry about that now that he was surrounded by his classmates and the teacher could force him to get his hoodie off, because it was forbidden to wear anything but the school uniform in the classroom.

“Mr. Brodie”, said a voice. Again it sounded just a little too loud in Hamish’s ears.

Hamish looked up to find his English teacher, Mr. Dabney, glaring at him.

“May I inquire the reason why you are wearing a garment on top of your uniform?” he asked coldly.

“Uh... I... I feel cold, sir”, said Hamish softly. But he could already see some of his classmates noticing the change in his voice.

“That’s not an excuse, Mr. Brodie. Please take off your hoodie”, he ordered.

Hamish cursed in his head. This was the moment he dreaded. He was already bullied for being the skinny weird nerd in his school. Now he was going to be the school’s overgrown freak.

As he took off his hoodie, he could hear all the whispers of his friends clearly in his ears like they were shouting their words to him.

_Oh my God, look at his arms!_

_Jesus Christ, did he eat steroid for snacks?_

_Must be steroids._

_Are those man boobs?_

_Look at the hair on his arms! He looks like a gorilla._

Hamish turned down his head and clenched his fists to make the noise go away. He could see the big scary veins popping on his hands in between the muscles. He wished the day would go by faster so he could runaway from all of this humiliation.

 

* * *

 

Hamish was packing up his books when he was suddenly pushed to the wall by Daniel, his school’s best rugby player; also the boy who spent everyday bullying Hamish.

“Oy, Brodie! Did you eat a whole bucket of steroid on holiday?” Daniel laughed along with his goonies.

Hamish shot them a look, then decided to ignore them and go back to packing his things.

“Hey, I was talking to you!”

Daniel was about to push Hamish again, but this time something kicked in his mind—an impulse, like an instinct. Then, as if his body moved in reflex, he caught Daniel’s hand, spun the boy up against the wall—and without thinking—snapped his hand from its hinges.

Hamish only realized what he had done when he heard the crack and Daniel’s ugly shriek in his ears. What happened next was a blur, as his classmates started rushing in and various screams muffled his hearing.

 

* * *

 

Hamish sat beside his mother who was apologizing to the headmaster and Daniel’s parents for what Hamish had done. For once, Hamish couldn’t hear what she was saying. Maybe it was because his hearing seemed to focus on the sound of the clock ticking on the wall. Or his mind was either too busy preparing a logical bullshit for his mother to explain his one-night rapid growth; or too distracted by the itch coming from his jaw. Hamish scratched his chin and found stubbles already growing across his jaw. He scrubbed along his face in disbelief. It made no sense that his beard was already growing that long when he just shaved it clean this morning.

He could never forget the horrified look on his mother’s face when she first saw him in his tight polo shirt, with his bulky muscles popping out all over the place. He could feel her staring at the thick hair on his forearms that went all the way up his elbows. Or the way her eyes squinted at the chest hair that was peeking out from his collar. Hamish couldn’t even find an explanation for _himself_ , however is he going to find a logical one for his mother?!

 

* * *

 

“Steroid?!” His mother let out a high pitch shriek that almost blew Hamish’s ears off.

“Yeah, mum. Steroid”, said Hamish apologetically.

“Why the fuck are ye using steroid?!” she snapped.

“I... wanted tae grow some muscles so Danny and his friends... won’t pick on me anymore”.

Hamish cursed inside his head. It’s a weak and petty excuse, but it’s the only one he got.

“Even if ye used steroid, ye couldn’t have grown this big in _one_ day?!”

Hamish heart almost stopped. “Of course not, I’ve been working out since summer”.

“Bollocks, I’ve never seen ye got _this big_ before today!”

“Well, how could ye tell? I was always wearing my hoodie. Ye didnae even notice it this morning”.

Hamish felt a little proud of himself. From the look on his mother’s face, he seemed to be succeeding.

“What about this then?! And that?!” She pointed at the chest hair that was peeking out from Hamish’s collar. “I dinnae remember ye being this hairy!”

Hamish shrugged calmly, he was close to convincing his mother. “Side effect fae the steroid. Boosted up my testosterone”.

“I personally think I look more manly, don’t ye think?” Hamish braved himself to give his mother a naughty smile.

His mother gave him a stern look. As if still deciding whether to trust his son or not. Hamish wasn’t a religious boy, but in that moment, he begged for the Lord to get his mother to believe in him just this once.

“Well…” His mother finally spoke. “This whole steroid business of yers stopped now. It’s not good for yer health.”

Hamish gave her a big smile. “Of course, mum. I think I’ve scared them enough today tae keep them aff me for the rest of the year”. He gave his mother a big hug, and then rushed upstairs to his room.

 

* * *

 

 

Hamish startled himself when he saw his own big reflection on the mirror. He’s still not used to his bulky and muscular body. Hamish impatiently took off his school uniform. He hated how tight it was, and he was still not used to the itchiness from the thick hair on his chest. In fact, all of his body was so covered in hair that Hamish took off everything but his underwear.

Hamish let out a groan that sounded more like a growl when his body was finally free off the confine of his clothes. Somehow he was not as startled at the sound of his growl as he did in the morning. Hamish let himself a moment to observe his new physique in front of the mirror. He still had no clue on what the fuck happened to him, what caused the drastic changes in his body. But if anything good came out of it, was that he wouldn’t need to worry about Danny anymore.

The young Scotsman walked towards his window to find the dark starry sky. Hamish didn’t know why, but he suddenly wanted to find the moon in the night sky. “There ye are”. Hamish found himself talking to the moon. The night sky was bright that day. It was the full moon.


	3. The Mission

**1980**

 

Arthur finally concluded the meeting and let them leave. Harry got himself out of the tailor shop as fast as he could and got on his Kingsman cab to head for the London house that Kingsman assigned to him.

As he looked out of the cab’s window filtered by his Kingsman sunglasses (he was happy that he could walk in daylight without getting burned anymore, but his eyes were still a bit sensitive to UV light), Harry pondered at the realization that it had been 6 months since he officially worked at the independent intelligence agency. And almost one year since he was no longer a human.

He had Chester King to thank for making him see the other side of his curse. That his powers, given the right and proper control, could be used for good. And saves a lot of people’s lives, instead of ending them.

Harry was proud of what he had achieved in his 6 months as Galahad. Given the advantage of his power, Harry was easily the best knight that Kingsman ever had. There was no mission that he could not handle, no information hidden from his microscopic vision, super hearing and mind-reading; and literally no human weapons could kill him. He was, after all, immortal.

 

* * *

 

Harry stood in front of the mirror and let out a long sigh. Now that he’s home and alone, it was time for him to do his unmasking ritual. First, he took out the brown contact lenses that he had been using every day to hide his blood-red eyes. Then he gently released the magical mask that the he had to construct with his power to hide the veins decorating his face, the dark red rings around his red eyes, or the fact that he was as pale as a corpse.

And when the mask was off, Harry called upon the darkness within him and set it loose. He let it flowed through his veins and all over his body. Harry groaned as he felt his fangs growing inside his mouth. He let his tongue danced to feel the sharpness of his fangs as they grew longer. And when he felt his claws growing at the tips of his fingers, Harry brought his hand up to trace his gelled hair.

As much as he wanted to blend in with the humans, Harry must admit, he felt better in his own skin. There was no orgasm that could beat the pleasure he felt when Harry let his dark power surged and flowed within him. And when he let his claws out, he felt like a heavy cuff had been taken off his hands.

Before Chester enrolled him as the candidate for the Galahad position, Harry spent almost a good 6 months under the supervision of Chester, Lancelot and Merlin to learn how to control his powers. It was one of the worst and hardest time in Harry’s life. There were numerous times where he was suicidal or on the brink of killing his supervisors. Poor Merlin almost died of blood loss after Harry lost control and drank his blood. Luckily he snapped out of it fast enough to leave the handler with a bit of blood in him.

But after 6 months, all of their hard works paid off. Harry was now able to control his powers whenever he saw it fit. Locking it inside him when he’s in the company of those other than Chester, Lancelot or Merlin, to hide his terrifyingly monstrous visage. He could even control his bloodlust so that he wouldn’t jump on anyone who got their fingers pricked by a needle.

He now fed from blood bags provided to him every night by Merlin, and refrained himself from drinking blood directly from human. He preferred not to deal with the mess that came with it. He realized that he’s a messy eater. Not only did he tend to smear his prey’s blood all over his bespoke suit, he also had to spend more energy on controlling his thirst—to know when to stop before his prey died of blood loss.

But again, as much as he hated to admit, feeding directly from human was an entirely orgasmic experience. Harry had never felt anything more satisfying than when he felt his fangs pierced the juicy skin of his prey, and letting the warm burst of blood sprayed all over his mouth. And he loved it messy. He enjoyed smearing the blood all over his face and letting it permeated into the pores on his pale skin. He loved licking what’s left of it around his face, when he’s finally done biting his prey.

Harry found himself forming a wide grin in front of the mirror as his mind recalled the last time he drank from a human. His tongue started to lick around his fangs, missing the sensation. That’s when he heard his dog barking. Alarming him of his regular guest that was waiting in front of his door.

 _Of course. Perfect timing as always._ Harry smiled to himself.

 

* * *

 

“Merlin”. Harry greeted the old Welsh gentleman in front of him with a polite smile.

Merlin’s eyes widened at the sight of a shirtless Harry Hart—baring his pale veiny torso and glowing red eyes.

“Good God, lad! What are you thinking?!” said the man as he rushed Harry inside the house. “What if the neighbours saw you?!”

“The neighbours that Arthur _assigned_ to watch me, you mean?” Harry grinned and purposely baring his fangs.

Merlin rolled his eyes. “Just because they were assigned to watch you, doesn’t mean that they know _what_ you are, you daft boy!”

Harry chuckled and the old man was suddenly charged by a brown cairn terrier, adorably barking and biting the end of Merlin’s pants at the same time.

“Dear God. Must he always do this every time?” The old man looked down in frustration.

Harry bent down and grabbed the cairn off Merlin’s leg. “Mr. Pickle does it because he likes you”, said Harry as he brought his cairn into his embrace and gave it a loving kiss.

Merlin scoffed. “I can’t believe you’re still calling him that.”

“What? I think it’s adorable” said Harry as the cairn started licking his face.

“And I still don’t understand why you picked him either”, said Merlin as he walked towards Harry’s dining room with the cooler box in his hand. “I thought you would have chosen the husky or something”.

Harry smiled as he entered the dining room with Mr. Pickle still in his arms. “He was the only puppy that didn’t bark out of fear…”.

Merlin’s eyes widened. Then his brows furrowed at the recollection inside his head. “Of course... so that’s why they were so noisy.”

Harry shrugged. “Animals can sense me better than humans. Works charmingly if my target has guard dogs. No matter how vicious they were, they always curled up in fear around me”.

Merlin chuckled. “One of the perks, eh?” he said while opening the cooler box and sliding it across the table to Harry’s side.

“Of sorts”, said Harry as he caught the cooler box.

“I know you like O better, but I could only find A and ABs tonight. Think I should source more hospitals for better supply...” said Merlin.

“This is more than enough, Merlin. Thank you”. Harry gave him a genuine smile.

“Don’t mention it, lad”. Merlin said.

“Arsenal is playing tonight”, said Harry as he poured the blood to a wine glass. “I... I mean, you’ll miss half the game if—"

“Come the fuck on then! What are we waiting for?!” Merlin slung his arms around Harry’s shoulder and dragged him to his common room, and he was more than happy to oblige the old man.

Harry was grateful to have Merlin in his life. After almost killing Stephen, Kingsman gave him an amnesia shot to make him forget about Harry’s attack. Then Harry decided to leave the manor and let Stephen live as far away from him as possible to prevent anything like that from happening again.

But in doing that, Harry let go of the closest person he regarded as a family—his father figure. Chester was nice to him, and Harry owed him his life for showing Harry how to harness his power. But Harry could always sense that the man was only nice to him because he wanted to use Harry’s power. There was always a flicker of ingenuity in everything that Chester did. Like he always had a hidden agenda up his sleeve.

Then there’s Lancelot. Or more privately known as Philip Ackerley. Harry knew for a fact that he was a genuinely good man. His private thoughts had proven so. But the man was always on guard and kept his distance. He never let it pass him to see Harry for what he truly was, a monster. For Lancelot, Harry was a threat. A walking tamed beast that could attack its master any time he was not fed. And Harry couldn’t blame the man for thinking so. In fact, he encouraged him to do so. When all else fail, he could count on Lancelot to stop him from killing innocent humans.

So that left him with Merlin. The last of the only three people who knew about Harry’s true nature. The handler was like a mother to him. He bore no grudge against Harry despite almost dying from blood lost after Harry sucked him dry. And he almost never missed a day personally delivering Harry the blood bags for his meal nor did he ever forget packing some for him when he was sent on missions.

Merlin also spared enough time to spend with Harry. They would watch any football matches on telly, or the old man would bring his takeaway, and they would have dinner together at Harry’s house.

After half a year of pain, self-loath, and depression; Harry had finally found some peace in his life. He had accepted the reality of what he was, the nature of his powers, and the challenges of his curse. He had even grown to be comfortable in his true form and sometimes wished he could walk in daylight baring his fangs, without being stared at. But he knew he couldn’t do that. No, Harry was perfectly content of what he had now.

“By the by, Arthur ordered me to brief you on your next mission”, said Merlin as he threw a folder on Harry’s lap.

“Why do we need to care about wild animal attacks?” Harry could read 20 times faster than human, so it hardly took him a second to read and memorize everything from the brief.

“Because Arthur and I believed that they were done by werewolf”, said Merlin calmly as he took a gulp from his beer.

“What?” Harry suddenly straighten himself up from his chair. “Werewolves are real?!”

“As real as you are, lad”. A coy smile curved up at the corner of Merlin’s lips.

“Arthur sent Lancelot to kill an alpha a few months ago”, explained Merlin as he got up from his chair. “Lancelot did kill him—“

“With a silver bullet?” Harry asked, couldn’t help himself from finding out if the myth was true or not.

“Yes, lad. With a silver bullet”. Merlin seemed amused by the fact that Harry Hart—probably the most powerful vampire in the world—was mesmerized by the fact that werewolves actually existed.

“But it seemed that the werewolf we killed might have bitten someone before he died”. Merlin continued.

A picture of a young handsome boy from the folder flicked in Harry’s mind. “Hamish Brodie… but… he’s just a boy…” Harry’s face turned grim. The boy was even younger than Harry was when he became a vampire.

“How do you know if it’s really him?” Harry asked.

“We found a CCTV footage of the night when he was bitten by the werewolf Lancelot killed”, said Merlin.

Harry looked away from Merlin. The scream of the football commentator drowning his thoughts. “Fine. I’ll see to it that he won’t hurt any more humans”.

“That’s not the order, lad”.

Harry turned his head to Merlin so fast that he bet normal people would’ve been scared by the gesture. He found the old man smiling warmly at him.

“The boy was only attacking deer or cows before he started killing humans. Arthur and I think that his _natural inclination_ is starting to get the better of him.” Merlin’s face turned serious. “Arthur wants you to assess if the boy could be _persuaded_ to cooperate... like you”.

Harry took a moment to digest the order. Chester King wanted to add a werewolf to his collection of monster army. _Of course, he would._ Harry chuckled softly.

“Alright, what’s the plan then?” asked Harry.

“You are going to his school as a new transfer student. Your cover is Harry Faulkner. You just moved from Manchester because your father was assigned to work in London. You can read the rest in here”. Merlin said as he handed Harry another folder.

“You want me to pretend to be a _high school_ student?” Harry lifted a brow at Merlin.

“Think you can still pass off as one”. Merlin grinned.

Harry scowled at the remarks. He was very aware of the fact that his physical features froze at the age when he was turned. Which meant he would look 19 for as long as he walked the earth. But he had figured out a way to age himself with his power, as it was part of his supernatural abilities to shapeshift. But Harry imagined it would be quite a hassle when he started getting much older. He would practically be walking around in a magical mask all of his life. And the prospect of living a life full of lies did not really bid him well.

“The full moon is in a week’s time. If you can’t get him to cooperate by then, you are to eliminate him”. Merlin said in his calm and plain tone.

“Yes, sir”. Harry replied obligingly.


	4. Their First Meeting

“Class, this is Harry Faulkner. He just moved in from Manchester...”

While the teacher introduced him, Harry smiled as charmingly as he could to the boys and girls in his class as he adjusted the big nerdy glasses that Merlin forced him to wear (“You’d look too pretty, otherwise”). He searched for the werewolf boy in the room. Hamish Brodie was a handsome 16-year-old boy with luscious black hair and a smashing jaw that Harry thought could break a diamond in half. In the few photos that Merlin could get his hands on, he was wearing a pair of glasses and an oversized sweater over his lanky mid-size figure. The file said he was probably around 170 cm high. But somehow Harry couldn’t find anyone that fit the features in the photo.

But there was a boy—a _big_ boy—who sat at the far right corner of the class and stood out from the rest. Mainly because he looked more like a fully grown man than a 16-year-old. If the boy weren’t wearing the school uniform, Harry would have thought that he was one of the teachers who decides to sit in.

The big boy’s face was covered in a fully grown beard, covering his jaw—but strangely left his moustache shaven. Harry wondered if the overgrown boy was a fan of Wolverine. The word _overgrown_ came into his mind because the boy decided to leave his polo shirt unbuttoned all the way down that he could see the thick, black chest hair that was wildly sprouting from underneath his polo shirt. Not only that, the boy’s arms were also covered in thick hair all the way up to above his elbows. Harry understood the science of human puberty—he even went through one himself—but that boy must be flooded with way too much testosterone.

Also, the boy was twice as big as the rest of his class. And he was so ripped and buffed, that Harry could see his big muscles flexing underneath his tight polo shirt. Harry bet that the boy could rip his own uniform if he so much as flexed his huge biceps. He was busy taking in the boy’s muscular body when he met the boy’s big green eyes. Harry hid his surprise and gave the big boy his softest smile, and the boy suddenly flushed red and quickly looked away.

That’s when it hit Harry. _Green eyes..._ The file mentioned that Hamish Brodie had green eyes. Harry quickly looked around the room to check if there’s other kids with green eyes, and he found none. The boy with the beard... was Hamish Brodie.

Harry’s heart was suddenly heavy with sympathy as he walked towards his chair at the opposite side of the room from the boy. The werewolf curse had transformed him so drastically that he was highly unrecognizable from his old self. Harry was too, changed physically, by his vampire curse. But with little efforts like shapeshifting, he was as human as he was before. But Hamish Brodie looked like a bloody hairy body builder dressed in a high school uniform that’s a centimetre away from getting ripped by his own muscles.

Harry caught the boy watching him from his seat a couple of times. He wondered if the boy could sense his true nature. He read that vampires and werewolves had a long love-hate history—or at least that’s what they wrote in the books. Harry had been collecting books from around the world about supernatural creatures in search for better understanding of his own nature. But he found it really hard to establish the factual ones from the fictions, as the line was almost blurred.

One of the books said that vampires were the only creature on earth that had enough power to tame a werewolf. So that the creature could roam the night with his fully conscious mind in his beastly form. Harry was sure that Chester must had read the same book, hence why he ended up sitting in the classroom. The Kingsman leader thought that Harry would be able to tame the beast so that Chester could recruit him as Kingsman guard dog.

It was cruel for Chester to conjure up such a plan for a mere 16-year-old boy. But Harry expected no less from his cold and almost soulless leader. Harry only hoped that the story wasn’t another fiction, otherwise he would have to kill the boy.

 

* * *

 

 

Hamish cursed inside his head as he fought off the huge boner. He almost fucking growled from the sensation when that bloody boy smiled at him. Throughout the class he couldn’t keep his eyes off him. And he was sure that the boy caught him staring a couple of times.

 _Fuuuuuccck_. Hamish cursed inside his head as he stared at the humongous bulge on his crotch. He was fully hard... over a bloody _smile_. Hamish realized that ever since he _changed_ , his sexual nature was pumped up to 100. He was so easily aroused that he needed to jack off at least twice a day. And he started going to _Bang_ every night to find a one-night stands, because jacking off wasn’t enough to fulfil his wild sexual appetite anymore. It helped a lot that he could well pass off as a 30-year-old man.

But this Harry Faulkner was different. One smile and it sent Hamish monstrous dick standing like a fucking tree. Hamish had to literally stuffed his mouth with his hand to prevent himself from growling, as he fantasized thrusting his cock to Harry’s arse. Hamish imagined him to have a soft arse. That Harry Faulkner looked like he fitted more in one of those crazy expensive public schools then in here. The boy had a classically handsome English face that beamed grace and nobility. It didn’t help that his handsomeness was further accentuated with a fluffy brown hair and soft lips as red as cherry. Hamish wanted to grab his fluffy hair with his hand, and made him scream his name with those red lips.

The bell’s ring snapped Hamish off his wild daydream and he quickly covered his crotch with his bag and rushed out of the room. On his way out, he noticed Harry looking up and meeting his glance. _Bloody hell, he is adorable_. But Hamish quickly turned away and rushed to the bathroom.

 

* * *

 

 

Hamish locked the men’s bathroom door so that he could freely jack off privately and growled as loud as he wanted to. He didn’t care when people started knocking the door, he would just shoo them off with his growl.

As he jacked off, Hamish thought off so many wild things that he wanted to do to Harry Faulkner. The boy looked fit, he could well see that he was pretty ripped underneath that damned polo shirt, so he must be able to handle Hamish.

Hamish finally let go after almost an hour. As he washed his hands on the sink, Hamish stared at his own reflection. He had stopped shaving his beard after the first month as it kept growing into a full beard again by the afternoon.

He left his polo shirt unbuttoned now that the whole class had already seen his full chest hair when they had swimming lesson a couple of months ago. And he needn’t wear oversized hoodie anymore to hide his big muscles as he was recruited by his school’s rugby team and was encouraged to get even more muscular. Hamish was starting to feel good in his new skin. And his muscles grew bigger each month that Danny and his goonies didn’t dare so much to cross his path. For once, Hamish became the popular kid in school.

He lighted up a cigarettes and inhaled deeply. He started smoking heavily after he changed. He would ask for a bathroom break to smoke in between the classes. He found that cigarettes calm his nerved and tames his sexual impulses for awhile. Otherwise, might have to have sex twice a day.

As he puffed the smoke and played with his beard, Hamish wondered what the hell it was about Harry Faulkner that drove him crazy. He was handsome, but still, he was just _a boy_. Hamish had a tendency of being drawn to pretty boys, but he’d met prettier ones than Harry that gave him no such effect. There was something about him... like a smell... a stench... that functioned almost like an aphrodisiac to Hamish.

The ticking sound of Hamish watch reminded him of the rugby training that he needed to attend. He threw his cigarettes into the toilet, unlock the bathroom door, and head out to the field. Harry Faulkner could wait, rugby came first.

 

* * *

 

 

Harry sat on the bench at the side of the field and watched Hamish Brodie played rugby like a wild animal set loose. He could tell that the boy had already mastered the ability to control his power, otherwise those kids who were charged by him were already flown across the field by contact. Brodie was also pacing himself in human speed, though Harry was sure he could move almost as fast as him.

Even on the field surrounded by other overgrown boys, Hamish still stood out by a mile. He was just too big and muscular for a 16-year-old, and the thick, black beard was not helping him to blend in at all. Harry wondered if Hamish knew what he really was. He read that some werewolves might live their lives in ignorance over their true nature, as they would have no recollection over the nights when the beast took over.

But then, Hamish was too smart of a boy not to question the drastic changes in his body, or abilities. He read in his files that Hamish had been at the top of his class since he got into school. The boy was practically a genius with an IQ of 150. It also said that he had won numerous science and tech competitions since entering high schools. Harry must remember to use that whenever he got the chance to talk to the boy.

But Brodie practically ran out of the classroom exactly after the class. Harry went out to look for him and found the boy locking himself in the men’s bathroom—masturbating. He did not expect the boy to growl as loud as he did while pleasuring himself. Harry had to stand by and wiped off the memory of the passer by for a bloody hour. After he was finally finished, the boy rushed to field and left Harry no chance to talk to him, yet again.

Harry’s thought was interrupted when Brodie stopped by the side of the field and took off his rugby uniform. By God, Harry had never seen such thick and luscious chest hair in his life before. Any imagination he had of what might lie underneath Brodie’s tight polo shirt uniform was quickly blown away. The boy might as well be covered in black fur.

Also, Harry didn’t expect to see such a chiselled and bulging pecs underneath those thick black carpet on his damn chest. Brodie had traps that would put Arnold Schwarzenegger to shame. And the boy must had only about 5% body fast, as Harry could see every fibre of his muscles flexing underneath his skin.

He couldn’t help but straying his gaze at the humongous bulge accentuated by Brodie’s super shorts too. He wondered how much of the size was truly Brodie’s natural gift or an endowment from his werewolf nature. Just as Harry was in his lowest moment, Brodie’s eyes met Harry. And he tried his best not to look like a creep who had been staring at a 16-year-old’s crotch for a long time.

But then, Brodie quickly broke off their glance and ran back to the field. Harry was starting to feel odd. Humans were always attracted to him, whether they liked it or not. It was part of Harry’s predatory mechanism to ooze aphrodisiac in whatever he did—be it a charming glance or his addictive vampire scent. They were a natural mechanism designed to lure his preys. Harry was beginning to think that werewolves were immune to his charm. _Can’t believe I have to put in an actual effort to get close to a **16-year-old boy**_. Harry sighed.

 

* * *

 

 

Hamish waited until all of his team mates left to shower and vent out an angry growl. _Why did he have to show up?!_ Just when he thought he was done handling whatever impulses he had on that Harry Faulkner, the bloody boy had to show up in the middle of his fucking training in those big adorable glasses of his. Now Hamish had to jack off again to satisfy his impulses.

When he finally finished, Hamish put on a tight white sleeveless tee, and a pair of ripped jeans. And also some gel to slick back his hair. He had learnt to adapt how he dressed after he changed. Aside from the fact that all of his clothes fitted him a bit too tightly, and his rise as the school’s popular kid; he couldn’t get laid dressing like a nerd kid in Bang. So now he put on this sort of rock singer persona to keep up his image.

Hamish put on his black leather jacket and was ready to head home, when he suddenly bumped into someone at the school gate and knocked him down.

“Sorry I—” Hamish was about to help the boy up, when he noticed that it was none other than Harry Faulkner.

“It’s... quite alright...” He said as he searched the ground like he was looking for something.

That’s when Hamish noticed that he had knocked the boy so hard that his glasses flown from his face. The poor creature looked so desperate without his glasses, so Hamish decided to help him.

“Here ye go”. Hamish said as he handed Harry his thick black rimmed glasses.

“Oh my, thank you so much”. Harry put in his glasses and beamed Hamish a warm smile that made the hair on his back tingles.

They both got back up and Harry tilted his head as he observed Hamish. “You’re the one playing rugby just now! You were amazing”.

Hamish swore the boy’s eyes looked like they sparkled. “Thanks...” said Hamish plainly as he tried to avoid Harry’s adorable brown eyes.

“I’m Harry”, the boy offered his hand. “Harry Faulkner”.

Hamish cursed inside his head. Harry’s hand was so soft and smooth. It grazed Hamish’s big hand like a porcelain.

“Hamish Brodie”.

“We’re in the same class, aren’t we? I remember you rushing out of the door so quickly”, said Harry.

“Yeah... I had somewhere I needed tae be.” Hamish could feel himself tensing as Harry’s adorable smile started to trigger his sexual urge again. “Sorry, I need tae go home”. Hamish said as he walked pass Harry and searched his pocket for cigarettes.

“Where do you live?” asked Harry.

For some reason, Hamish couldn’t continue his walk and instead turned around to answer Harry. “Fratton”.

Harry’s face lighted up. “What a coincidence, that’s on the same direction to where I live. I’m at Stamford. Do you mind if I tag along?”

For the life of him, Hamish couldn’t say no to that soft smile and adorable brown eyes. “Sure...”

Hamish lighted up his cigarette as Harry caught up to him. He could only pray that the cigarette was enough to keep his impulses down for a 10 minutes’ walk with Harry.

 

* * *

 

 

“You smoke quite a lot, don’t you, Hamish?”

It was a delightful feeling to listen to Harry’s voice calling his name. Maybe it was his posh enunciation, or the soft timbre of his voice that made everything sounded more beautiful.

“How can ye tell?” asked Hamish as threw his last cigarette and stomped it with his foot.

“Well, we’ve barely walked for 5 minutes and you already finished two...or...” Harry’s face suddenly turned bitter. “Perhaps... I’m not an interesting enough company for you?”

“Wh—no! God, no. No, ye’re very interesting!” Hamish panicked. He didn’t want Harry to feel bad because him. But he didn’t want to come off too forward either.

“I mean—I smoke a lot, I just do. It...” Hamish contemplated on how much he could really tell to Harry before the boy would run away thinking he’s a freak. “It calms my nerves”.

Harry let out a relieved sighed and smiled at Hamish. “Thank God, I would hate to be a lousy company to you”. Harry said as he tapped Hamish’s arm.

There was that soft, warm touch again. Something inside him wanted Harry to touch him as long as he could, to stroke him. He wanted to feel the graze of Harry’s smooth hand against the thick hair all over his body. But then Hamish remembered his place. He remembered his _father_. He remembered that he barely knew Harry Faulkner, and he didn’t even know if the boy was... the _same_ as him. The last thing Hamish needed was to get outed just because he couldn’t keep his hands off some pretty boy at school.

“So, how long have you been playing at the rugby team?” Harry started the conversation again.

“About 8 months”, answered Hamish.

“Really? The way you played, I thought you’d been playing all your life. You were so good”, said Harry.

Hamish smiled politely at the compliment. Harry was such a high spirited and polite boy. It was quite a delightful surprise for Hamish. With the way he looked, Hamish thought Harry was one of those stuck up and soulless English boys.

“What about ye? Ye’re into rugby tae?” asked Hamish.

“Oh, I’m mad about it. But as you can see, I’m not really built to play”. Harry chuckled softly. “One push from guys like you and I’d be flown all the way to the end of the field”.

Hamish thought Harry was being too humble. He might not be as big as Hamish, but Harry was ripped too. He could tell that Harry worked out regularly from his figure. Hamish could tell the boy got some wonderful pecs underneath that polo shirt.

They talked until finally reaching Hamish house. Hamish had to ask Harry’s permission to smoke an extra 2 cigarettes to keep his hands off him. Harry asked if he could sit beside Hamish tomorrow since he’s the only friend he made in class. Hamish dreaded the torturous boner he’d have to suppress with Harry sitting so close to him. But he couldn’t bring himself to say no to Harry. Harry bid his goodbye and headed home, leaving Hamish dreading what he just got himself into.

 

* * *

 

 

“I don’t remember typing _cute and nerdy_ on the list of characterization for your cover, Galahad”.

Harry rolled his eyes at Merlin’s remarks.

“Oh, shut up, Merlin. My face is already crammed for smiling too much, I don’t want it to hurt further from scowling at you.” Harry snarled.

The old man barked a laugh that made Harry wished he had turned off the bug throughout the mission.

“Why did you decide on playing this happy dorky persona anyway?” Merlin struggled amidst his laughter.

“He was basically the typical case of a nerd before all of this happened. The tough and rebellious look are just for show. I scanned his bag just now, there were schematics of some tools, probably his own invention.” said Harry as he spread out his darkness to scan and check the surrounding—making sure that Hamish was indeed in his home and not following him.

“The curse might have changed him physically, but mentally, he’s still a 16-year-old boy. It was strategic to establish that I could relate to who really is... on the _inside_ ”.

“I see.” Merlin hummed in agreement. “What now, then?”

“I still don’t know the extent of his power. He’s been quite elusive around me and I’ve been wondering if he could sense what I am...” said Harry in cautious tone.

“You think he knows you’re a vampire?” asked Merlin.

“Or he could just be naturally shy”. Harry replied.

“Can’t you just... read his mind?”

“I don’t know what would happen if I try that. There’s a risk that he could sense my power directly if I enter his mind.” Harry walked towards one of the alleys in search for dark enough corners.

“We’re dealing with a supernatural being whose power might rival mine, Merlin. Let’s assume that he might possess a similar set of skills as mine.”

Harry finally found a corner with dark enough shadows, he reached for the black space with his hand and let the darkness inside him flowed to connect with the shadow.

“I will let you listen to my conversations, but under no circumstances should you engage me over radio unless I call”, ordered Harry.

“Yes, sir”.

“I will enter the shadow realm to follow him. I can’t risk him sensing me even from afar. I have a feeling he might have super senses too. So I will be radio silent for awhile.” Said Harry.

“Understood, Galahad”, said Merlin affirmatively.

“I’ll report to you as soon as I can. Till then, Merlin”.

Harry entered the shadow realm. In his 6 months of training with Arthur and Lancelot, he had learnt a few tricks that was inherent to his kind. Every supernatural beings are connected to the darkness in some fashion, it is what powers their curse after all. But no dark creature, could harness the power of the darkness as well as vampires.

Harry’s kind could enter the shadow realm—a realm powered solely by darkness—and use it to travel distances physically impossible by human. It was exactly like the concept of teleportation. Not only that, in the shadow realm, he was truly hidden from the senses of any creature. It’s why Harry thought it best for him to watch Brodie from the shadow realm.

In a blink, Harry was in Brodie’s room—masked in the shadow casted by his mountainous paper stacks. The room was a mess. There were tools and machine parts scattered all over the place. Sketches and blueprints plastered erratically all over the walls. Cigarette butts trashed across the floor. Harry was going to continue inspecting the surrounding when he was distracted by the bulky, muscular figure at the centre of the junkyard—practically naked except for the ridiculously tight white underwear covering a massive bulge on his crotch.

Brodie’s face was dead serious. His big green eyes staring intently at the tiny tool in his big hands. Harry wondered how the boy could tinker anything with those massive hands. From Harry’s quick screening of Brodie’s designs on the wall, his inventions required the touch of a pair of delicate hands. Meanwhile, Brodie’s hands now were more fitting to meld metals with big hammers, dealing with heavy machineries of sort.

Then Harry heard a crack and realized that Brodie had just broke the tool in his hands. The boy suddenly got up, threw the tool harshly to the wall, and let out a loud, angry growl. The boy panted angrily as he looked down in frustration at both of his hands. Long, sharp claws suddenly started growing from each of his fingers. Harry saw what looked like canine fangs on both Brodie’s upper and lower teeth. The placement was almost the same as Harry’s, but aside from 4 normal set of teeth at the front, Brodie’s entire dental set had morphed into those similar of canine. It was no wonder that Brodie was so keen on being quiet and restraining his replies. He probably didn’t want to show off his massive fangs.

Then the boy frantically searched his room for something. Harry watched in confusion as he saw this big muscular lump of hairball trashing his already messy room. When Brodie finally found what he was looking for, it was none other than marijuana. The boy quickly lighted it up and inhaled impatiently from it.

Brodie then lumped himself on his bed, still with his marijuana in hand. He seemed calmer now. Then Harry remembered when the boy said that cigarettes calmed his nerves. Harry knew some substances could help tame some of his dark impulses, but the effect merely lasted any useful time. He looked around the room at the trash of probably thousands of cigarettes butts. _The boy is using it to calm his dark impulses._ Brodie knew it lasted short, so he pumped up the dosage. Harry’s heart went heavy seeing the 16-year-old forcing himself to be a heavy smoker just to control his nature.

Brodie grabbed one of the blueprints on the floor and stared bitterly at while smoking his marijuana. Then he suddenly tore off the paper and threw it to the wall. Watching the scene, Harry understood now. Why Brodie’s room was such a mess. Why there were trashes of unfinished or broken machineries all over the floor. The scene before him, it had probably happened over and over again since Brodie changed.

The boy was a 16-year-old prodigy with a passion for inventing technologies. He’s used to creating and tinkering his tools with his own tiny hands. But now... as the curse had transformed him, his hands were no longer fitted for such delicate technicalities. Brodie could no longer do the things he loved best.

Harry suddenly felt empathy for the boy. He wanted to help him control his power. To tell him that he’d be able to make his creation again once he get a control over his curse. But Harry had to be patient. He needed to be professional. Mission comes first. To help the boy he needed to assess his power, and whether Brodie knew the true nature of himself.

 

* * *

 

 

Harry waited in the shadow until Brodie got out around 12 am and headed to the city. Harry wondered what a 16-year-old boy could be possibly doing out in the night. It wasn’t full moon yet, so it’s hardly possible that Brodie was out looking for a prey.

After a good 5 minutes of watching the boy jumping across the roofs across London in a speed that almost matched Harry, he finally got his answer. Brodie went to Bang, the most famous gay club in London.

 _A gay werewolf..._ Harry thought. _Good lord. I’m in trouble._

Harry felt a little guilty now that he knew Brodie was gay. What if he got too close to him and Brodie actually fell in love with him? Maybe he had mistaken his innocent blush for elusiveness? Brodie was his mission, but it seemed too cruel to exploit the heart of an innocent 16-year-old boy.

Harry watched as Brodie got into the club easily without anyone noticing that he might be out of place. Harry guessed with a thick black beard and a huge body like his, he could get to any club without trouble.

Inside, Brodie was quickly surrounded by tons of guys. Harry’s vampire nature encouraged him to draw pleasure from any gender or sexuality, but when he was human, he knew that he was bisexual. He did have a bit of fun with a handsome Danish royalty in his boarding school. Though Harry must admit, he’s not as familiar with the gay scene as he wanted to be. He preferred ladies, mainly for practicality. The human society was still not ready to accept those like him or Brodie, so why even bother? Besides, Harry was significantly more finicky when it came to guys. There were hardly any that attracted him ever since dear Nikolai. _God, I should pay him a visit and have a little fun in his palace sometime._

But Harry believed, that someone with a physical built like Brodie was called a bear. Harry tilted his head as he watched the boy danced around with the men in the club. Brodie was wearing a tight black tee and a pair of black leather pants that seemed to be designed to accentuate his massive cock and humongous arse. Harry wondered if the boy did it on purpose—if all of this charade was just him keeping up appearances, or did he actually like wearing those atrocious pants? If it were the latter, Harry must admit, he would be a little disappointed.

After half an hour of a-little-too-aggressive dancing for Harry’s taste and watching Brodie practically making out with almost every men in the club (at some point Harry wondered if the boy was a magnificent kisser); the boy finally went out with about 10 men and went to a nearby hotel. Harry started to have a weird feeling about the whole scene.

 

* * *

 

 

“Did you say _orgy_?” Merlin shouted a little too loud over the comm.

“Please don’t make me say the word again.” Harry sighed.

He laid himself back on the armchair beside in front of the fireplace in his cover home, and poured himself some brandy.

“Our 16-year-old _boy_ is not so innocent as you thought, eh Galahad?” Merlin sounded like he was grinning wildly.

Harry rolled his eyes at the remark. “No, he’s not”.

“And you said he was a _nerd_ ”, said Merlin as he laughed barking.

“Oh, shut up you old tart.” Harry snapped.

Harry sipped his brandy as he waited for Merlin’s annoying laugh to die down. In his mind, Harry weighed his options on how to continue with his missions. After tonight, it was clear what Harry needed to do, the question was, could he do it to Hamish?

Harry had done many honeypot missions by now—he even enjoyed it sometimes. There was a certain pleasure to be had from successfully submitting the counterparts to ones’ charm. But the concept of exploiting the feeling of a 16-year-old boy, seemed too cruel and tasteless for Harry.

“You know what you have to do, right lad?” Merlin finally settling right back to business. “Should be easy now that we know what he’s really into”.

Harry paused for words. His mind travelled to Hamish’s dark and cramped room, the shrine of his hopelessness and desperation. Harry’s beginning to question if he starting to care a little too much for the boy.

“Don’t you think it’ll be too cruel, Merlin?” Harry sighed. “Toying with the boy’s feeling?”

Harry could hear Merlin holding back a surprised choke.

“He’s hardly just a _boy_ , Galahad. You’ve seen enough proofs of that tonight. And more _importantly_ , mission comes first. We have no time to talk of _cruelty_ when _your boy_ had already killed three people”. Merlin said in his stern, commanding tone.

“You of all people should know what’s at stake here, _Galahad_.”

Harry bit his lips. He could feel his fangs growing as his emotions bled into him. Merlin was right. Regardless of who Hamish was, he’s no longer the skinny innocent little boy anymore. He’s a _monster_ , just like Harry. And the longer Harry let him left his power unchecked, the worse it is for Hamish. If Harry had to use Hamish’s feelings so that he could save the boy from becoming the monster that he would one day regret, then so be it.

“Understood, Merlin”.

Harry closed his eyes and sighed. He’s not one to feel much empathy for others—not even when he was still human. It’s one of the reasons why a job like Kingsman came so easy to him. But there was something about Hamish Brodie that lit a light on a part of Harry that he had long thought to be dead. So it felt really strange for him to actually feel compassion for the boy. Whether he liked it or not, Harry would put Hamish Brodie through great turbulence and suffering for the next few days.


	5. The Honeypot

Something sparked in Hamish as he felt the brush of Harry’s smooth and long fingers against the hair on his arms. His eyes travelled from Harry’s lingering touch, back to the angelic face in front of him, whose smile was invitingly sweet. Hamish felt his heart raced, and a mix of chemicals and hormones started rushing all over his body. He suddenly grabbed Harry’s beautifully lean and muscular body with his two big hands, and banged his body against the locker.

Hamish watched his soft little angel winced from the pain caused his sharp claws grazing Harry’s skin; but somehow he didn’t care. Hamish now had both of Harry’s arm tightly locked in his hands, while pinning him against the wall with his muscular body.

“Hamish... what... are you doing?” Harry sounded scared.

Hamish couldn’t hear Harry clearly over the harsh sound of his own breath, panting loudly. He could feel his cock going hard in a jolt. Poking Harry’s crotch, and leaving the boy with an even more horrified look. Hamish didn’t even have time to process it. His instinct—his impulses—moved his body like a crazy marionette, and the next thing he knew, he was showing his tongue up Harry’s mouth. His whole body felt like it was in ecstasy as he tasted Harry’s sweet tongue. In the back of his mind, a little part of screamed for him to slow down so that he wouldn’t hurt Harry’s lips with his sharp fangs. But Hamish couldn’t stop. He wanted Harry so bad. He had never lusted for anyone this desperately before.

Hamish could feel Harry struggling. His arms swinging to break free from Hamish grab. “Hamish... please...”

He heard Harry, but somehow his impulses controlled him to press on. Hamish’s right hand moved from grabbing Harry’s arm to travelling down Harry’s crotch. Just as he was about to slip into Harry’s short, he felt the boy grabbing his hand—stopping him.

“Hamish, _please_... don’t do this. Stop...” Harry pleaded.

But instead, Hamish growled at him. Harry’s body trembled after hearing the horrifying sound. And that’s when Hamish saw his own monstrous reflection in Harry’s big brown eyes. His fangs were in full display. His mouth was barking at Harry like he was ready to bite him.

Shocked by his own appearance, Hamish came into his senses and let go of Harry’s hand. As he released Harry’s body from his charge, the boy fell trembling to the floor.

Hamish extended his hand to comfort him. “Harry... I’m so—"

But Harry flinched and curled up in fear instead. His breath falling short with trauma. Hamish’s heart broke into a million little pieces as he watched the first boy that he ever loved, trembled in terror because of him. He couldn’t take it, so he ran out, and left Harry by himself. It was as he feared, he had ended up hurting the one he wanted to love.

 

* * *

 

Harry heard Hamish’s running footsteps amidst the trembling sound of his own body. He set loose his darkness to sense Hamish’s presence. He could sense Hamish running over the rooftops of London, on his way back to his house.

“Let’s give him a night to sink it in. I’m quite confident he’ll tell me everything tomorrow”. Harry said amidst the silence of the empty locker room, his body suddenly had stopped trembling.

There was a split second pause. Then a familiar noise creaked in Harry’s ear.

“That was quite a performance, Galahad.”

Harry raised to his feet. He brushed his shorts of the dust from the floor and started walking back to his locker.

“And here I thought you’d be too soft on the boy”. Merlin said with a teasing tone.

Harry did not dignify his remark with a reply. Instead he slipped back into his uniform and prepared to head back home. It was unimaginably cruel, what he had done to Hamish. Harry had designed his whole interactions with Hamish today specially to trigger his werewolf impulses. The soft touches, the sweet smiles—he even used a little of his vampire charm to trigger Hamish.

And it worked perfectly, but it was brutal. Harry was sure Hamish must be in agony right now. But he needed the boy to feel it. Hamish needed to acknowledge the horror and danger of his own self to accept the reality of what he was now. He needed to know just how threatening and harmful he could be to the people around him; to realize the importance of controlling his curse.

 

* * *

 

 

“As expected. He didn’t come today”. Harry reported as he walked pass the school gate.

Harry had left Hamish to deal with the horrible consequences of his actions last night—the actions which Harry specifically triggered himself. Harry spent the night in his safe house, mulling over his decisions. He knew what Hamish was feeling, he had once felt it himself. The guilt of hurting the people you love, the frustration of not being able to control oneself—the consuming anger that could not go away afterwards; Harry had been through all of that. It was the darkest period in his life, and now he had purposely made Hamish to go through the same thing. Through the night, Harry had to keep saying to himself that it was for Hamish’s own good. It’s the only way for him to get through this ordeal.

“He’s at his home. Surveillance confirmed he’s never left since coming home after the incident he had with you”. Merlin said over the comm.

“Is he alone?” asked Harry as made started his journey towards Hamish’s house.

“No. His mother is there too. But she should be leaving for work in about an hour or so”, said Merlin.

Harry hummed in acknowledgement. “I’ll go there and persuade her to leave earlier”.

“Noted. Do I need to establish a perimeter?” asked Merlin.

“No, I can handle this. Besides, the boy would probably be able to spot them. Leave this to me”. Harry ordered.

“Very well, Galahad.” Merlin said.

“Going radio silent now”.

 

* * *

 

 

Hamish curled up in his bed—half naked, safe but his little shorts—as he stared at the broken mirror in his room. He came home last night and broke it in pieces with his bare hand as he couldn’t stand seeing his own reflection. He was disgusted at himself—at what he had done to Harry. Hamish let out a growl at the recollection that just forcibly entered his mind. The vision of Harry curling up on the floor—trembling in fear. He decided not to go to school today. He pretended to be sick. He couldn’t face Harry, not after what he had done to him. Harry Faulkner was nothing but kind and generous, and Hamish just outright assaulted the boy like he was nothing but a sexual object for his pleasure.

He was about to scream out of frustration, when he heard a soft knock on his door. Hamish hesitantly opened the door, and his heart almost stopped when he saw the person that was standing in front of his room.

“Hello, Hamish”.

It was none other than Harry Faulkner. Standing in front of Hamish, still dressed in the blue polo shirt uniform, with his unruly brown hair and angelic big brown eyes. A timid smile formed upon his lips as he greeted Hamish. Then guilt started to kick in Hamish’s heart. He could still remember the tremble and coldness of Harry’s body against his, and he could see the red marks he left on Harry’s arms when he grabbed him yesterday.

“I’m sorry, Hamish… did I come at a bad time?” Harry asked guiltily after Hamish left them in an awkward silence for a moment. “Your mother let me in, and she told me to come up here…”

“Ye’re sorry?!” said Hamish, louder than he intended. Hamish couldn’t figure Harry out. He should be the one who was begging for forgiveness, he sexually assaulted him. He scarred him to death—probably traumatized him too, and Harry was sorry?! For a moment, Harry’s big brown eyes flashed with fear when he caught a glimpse of Hamish’s fangs.

“I’ve bothered you…” Harry said softly and nodded in guilt. “I’ll see myself out”, said Harry as he turned away.

“No, wait!” Hamish suddenly grabbed Harry’s arm, and the boy flinched at the contact.

Hamish quickly let go of his arm. Harry’s eyes were suddenly drowned in fear. The boy stroked the arm that Hamish let go with his other hand, as if nursing the wounds that Hamish left yesterday. His face turned blue, and Hamish realized that Harry was still traumatized by what he did to him. Hamish bit his lips and turned away, he couldn’t bear seeing Harry like that. Maybe it was for the best that Harry stayed as far away from him as possible.

“Ye should go, Harry…” Hamish gritted his teeth. “Ye should stay away fae me…”

Hamish turned away and started to walk back to his room. His hands trembled from clutching too tightly. He was so mad at himself—for ruining his chance with Harry, for hurting him.

“Wait”.

Hamish felt a soft and warm clutch on his right hand that froze him almost instantly. He closed his eyes, afraid to face the person standing behind him. But when Harry’s soft fingers stroked his arm with such fond affection, he couldn’t help but turned and peeked a glance at his angelic face.

“We need to talk… Hamish…” Harry said timidly.

Hamish could tell that he was still afraid, but Harry’s big brown eyes was bright with resolution.

“Harry... I—”

“May we talk in private?” said Harry almost commandingly.

Hamish was caught off guard when Harry grabbed his hand and ushered him inside his own room. The boy closed the door behind them without loosing his gentle grip on Hamish’s hand. The Scotsman couldn’t help but stared in silence as his mind spiralled in panic over Harry’s presence in his room. Why was Harry there in the first place? Why was he holding his hand? What did he want to talk about? What if he couldn’t restrain himself again?!

“Hamish”.

Harry’s soft silky voice snapped him back from his thoughts. Hamish felt like Harry had seen straight to the heart of him in a single glance. His brown eyes pierced intensely to his own like he was reading his mind. His thumb stroked gently over Hamish’s palm and sent the hair on the back of his neck standing.

“I know you didn’t mean to do… what you did yesterday…” Harry said softly.

Hamish felt he was just punched right in the gut. He tried to speak but he choked on his breath instead. As he struggled for words, he could feel all of his buried feelings creeping up from inside him—hurling his thoughts in a storm of frustration, sadness and anger. And without so much of a warning, Hamish burst into tears. He tried to gag his mouth with his hand to stop himself from crying, but it only made him choked more. Hamish was starting to feel weak from all his emotions, when Harry suddenly took him in the most tender embrace.

“I’m here, Hamish”. Harry whispered softly into his ears, his hand gently cradled the back of Hamish’s head. “It’s alright…”

Their shared height complimented the contact so well. Hamish was resting his head on the curve of Harry’s shoulder as his arms clung for his lean body. Harry reciprocated with a gentle stroke against Hamish’s back, while whispering compassionate assurance in Hamish’s ears. There was a strange feeling of pleasant tranquillity that seemed to emanate from Harry as he wrapped his body around Hamish. Harry was so warm and gentle that somehow Hamish felt entirely safe in his embrace.

“I’m so sorry, Harry…” Hamish was finally able to rest from crying and conjured up a few words.

Harry pulled himself back, breaking away from Hamish, so that he could see into Hamish’s big green eyes. His hand then gently reached to cup Hamish’s face, Harry’s thumb fondly wiping the tears from his cheek.

“I know, Hamish. It’s alright”. Harry let out his softest smile.

It was then that Hamish decided to tell Harry the truth. It began with him claiming that he wasn’t normal, of how he thought there was something seriously wrong with him. Then it went on through the night as Hamish confided in Harry all of his most kept secrets. He told him all of the drastic changes that had happened to him throughout the past year. How he couldn’t explain any of it, his helplessness in controlling his own impulses. At one point, Hamish even showed Harry his canine fangs—the whole set of it.

“Let me see them again”, said Harry.

Hamish opened his mouth wide and bared his fangs in front of Harry like he was about to eat him whole. They sat side by side at Hamish’s bed while Harry marvelled at the size and sharpness of his fangs.

“Wow… that is impressive” Harry stared bewilderingly. “It goes all the way down your back teeth”.

Harry had his hand cupping Hamish’s face as he observed Hamish’s fangs with great fascination. It took a moment till both of them realized that their faces were mere inch away from each other. Hamish shyly closed his mouth and stared timidly at Harry.

“Ye dinnae think it’s…weird? Ye’re not… afraid?” Hamish asked, though dreading the answer.

Harry’s head tilted at the question. Then his lips curved a playful little smirk.

“Oh, it is certainly weird, alright”. He snickered. “But… afraid?” Harry’s thumb started to gently trace the lines on Hamish’s lips. “I think _curious_ is a more proper word”.

Harry leaned himself closer to Hamish that he could feel the warmth of his breath against his face. “I’m curious… how it feels like to kiss someone with fangs”. Then his big brown eyes looked up at Hamish, searching for permission. “Do you mind?”

“…no…” Hamish answered shyly, his face was fully red.

Hamish could see Harry’s handsome smile as he gently put his lips against his. It was soft and shy at the same time. Like Harry was courteous enough not to intrude. But Harry needn’t wait long enough for Hamish to reciprocate. Hamish’s impulses were pulsing off like fireworks. He was already hard as a rock in seconds. Hamish grabbed the back of Harry’s head and pulled him even tighter into his kiss. He could feel Harry’s fleeting resistance as Hamish went fast and wilder in his mouth. But impulses had taken control once again, and Hamish was not certainly himself when he let out a loud growl that made Harry harshly pulled back to the end of the bed.

“Was that… you?” Harry stared in shock and confusion.

“Oh, fuck… I’m…” Hamish flustered and panicked.

“Did you just growl?” Harry asked, his brows furrowed with perplexity.

“I—I did…” Hamish looked down in shame. “I dinnae know why… but it just… comes out when I get excited”.

Hamish braved himself to look up and meet Harry’s eyes again. But he was met with puzzlement, and cautiousness as Harry’s eyes noticed the huge bulge on his crotch. Hamish suddenly stood and backed himself away from the bed.

“Oh, God. I’m sorry, Harry—I’m doing it again, I’m sorry”. Hamish hands clutched his hair in frustration. He started pacing himself beside the bed in panic.

“Hey, it’s alright—“

“I’m so sorry, I cannae believe—“

“Hamish, it’s—“

“I fucked up again, ye should’ve just left—“

“Hamish!” shouted Harry as he caught one of Hamish’s hands and gripped it tightly.

Hamish was stopped in his track as Harry’s voice froze his body. He turned his head and found Harry glaring at him with a stern look.

“Come here…” said Harry as he pulled Hamish’s hand.

Harry pulled Hamish to sit beside him on the bed again. His brown eyes locked at Hamish’s—observing him. There was a serious look on his face, like he was almost upset with him.

“Look, you need to stop panicking... I was just a little surprise...” Harry looked a bit guilty.

Hamish blinked, surprised. He was sure that he had upset Harry again for being so intrusively sexual. Harry looked away, he bit his lips and looked down—studying his own hand—as if looking for the right words.

“I’m...” Harry hesitated. “I’ve never done this, Hamish...” His face flushed red like a sweet cherry.

Harry left them in a momentary silence as he drowned in his own thoughts. Meanwhile Hamish was angry at himself for forgetting that Harry was just a 16-year-old boy, and probably didn’t go around every night fucking all the gays in London. Hamish didn’t even consider that this was probably Harry’s first time with a boy.

Hamish was about to break the silence and apologize again when he felt Harry’s finger tracing over his. Harry turned his face towards him, but his brown eyes still locked on his hand. Harry wet his lips, and Hamish tried his best not to get aroused.

“I like you Hamish...” Harry finally looked up to meet Hamish’s gaze. And Hamish almost had a heart attack from looking at those big brown eyes, which sparkled so beautifully against the moonlight that peered from Hamish’s window.

Harry’s fingers gently played around with Hamish. It looked as if he did it out of nervousness. “But... we just met...” Harry’s eyes were pleading and Hamish couldn’t bear it.

“And it’s a...” Harry paused—desperate for words. “I wonder... if it’s alright if we... take it a bit slow?”

Hamish gagged, surprised. “Ye—ye still want to be with me?!”

Harry shrugged and smiled shyly. “You’re a little weird... but I like you”.

Hamish’s heart leapt with joy. He couldn’t believe that he would find someone that would accept him for all of his strangeness. Harry had every reason to be afraid of him, to be angry at him; yet he was nothing but understanding and gentle.

They ended up spending the night talking. Hamish telling Harry about his family—his hardworking bartender mother, his drunk homophobic father. How his changes got him into all sorts of troubles, but also granted him a position in the school’s rugby team. Harry listened attentively. Both of them laid side by side in Hamish’s bed. Harry’s fingers playing with the thick hair on Hamish’s chest as he hummed softly to all of Hamish’s stories.

Harry also shared his own fair of stories. He talked about his love for butterflies and that someday he wanted to become a lepidopterist and travel around the world in search of new species of butterflies. Harry adorably told Hamish that if he did find one, he’d name it after him.

Harry laid down his head on Hamish’s broad and hairy chest. He innocently joked that it was like laying on top his dog, Mr. Pickle. Hamish chuckled in disbelief that Harry actually named his dog _Mr. Pickle_ , just how more adorable could Harry get? Eventually, Harry fell asleep in Hamish’s embrace, his beautiful long arms clinging around Hamish’s six packs. Hamish flushed red, oblivious on what to do. He was so used to plain and instinctual sex that Harry’s innocent and loving embraces confused him.

Hamish wondered whatever he had done to deserve someone as kind as Harry. He looked down at Harry’s curly brown hair that nested on top of his chest. He wanted to run through it with his fingers, but were too afraid that his sharp claws would scratch him. So Hamish settled with nuzzling his curls with the tip of his claws until he too fell sleep.


	6. The Reveal

Hamish walked through his school corridor with huge smile on his face that almost exposed his fangs. The sweet scent of Harry’s soft skin still lingered and it made him feeling all sorts of butterfly in his stomach.

Both of them fell asleep cuddling each other. Harry eventually woke him up at around 5 am. He told him that it was better if he left before Hamish’s mother found them sleeping together. They went out through Hamish’s window and he told Harry to ride on his back while he jumped from the 2nd floor, down to the street in front of his house.

Harry was so impressed by the jump, he told Hamish that he might be some sort of mutant with superpowers. The giggle that Harry made when he said the words made Merlin blushed. Harry made Hamish promise to save a seat for him on his side no matter what—even if he had to scare some kids with his big muscles. So Hamish came early to make good of his promise.

Hamish tried his best to walk as fast he could through the hallway without being too inhumanely fast. It was made even harder by the masses of kids flooding the way. But then his eyes caught a glimpse of a familiar face at the end of the corridor. A face that made him lighted up, grinned like an idiot. Harry was standing beside the lockers—chatting. But Hamish noticed something strange. Harry didn’t look as cheerful as he used to, in fact, he looked almost scared.

Hamish paced his walk faster and that’s when he saw Danny and his goons crowding Harry against the locker. It was as if time froze and turned into slow motion as Hamish watched Danny slammed the book in Harry’s hand—dropping it on the floor. Hamish could feel the heat rushing from his heart up to his head. His eyes glared with wild fury, his fangs grew, and he could feel the jolt of power exploding inside him.

The next thing he knew, Hamish had Danny’s neck clutched inside his grip and against the locker. Danny struggled to breath as he lifted him up by the neck. In the tip of his eyes, Hamish saw Danny’s good scattering away in fear. He could hear himself growling, no doubt that all of his fangs were probably in full display in front of public. But he couldn’t care, he might have put up with Danny’s bullying all these years; but he would not let the twat laid so much of a hand on Harry.

Danny’s face was starting to flush red, his eyes went further up inside. Hamish knew that he was hurting him—suffocating him—but he couldn’t stop himself. He _wanted_ to hurt him, his adrenaline rushed with excitement as Danny whimpered helplessly in his hand. Hamish’s claws grew longer to the point where they were beginning to pierce Danny’s skin. And that’s when he felt a strong sudden grip on his arm—slowly pulling it away from Danny’s neck. Hamish looked to his left and found that it was Harry’s hand that was clutching his. Hamish blinked—surprised at how easily Harry was restraining him. When he finally made Hamish released his grip on Danny’s neck, Harry turned to Danny.

“You’re going to forget about this.” Harry said to Danny. His brown eyes somehow lighted up in an orange tinge, like it was shining from the inside.

“I’m going to forget about this…” Danny murmured, his eyes turned white and foggy.

Hamish’s eyes went back and forth from Danny to Harry in bewilderment. But Harry’s eyes were still fixed at Danny’s, just as his hand still clutching tight to Hamish’s. He tried to shake Harry’s hand off his, but to his shock, nothing he did made any effect at all on him. Hamish snarled as Harry’s clutch on his arm grew more painful.

“You will take your bag, and go straight to your home”, said Harry in a plain and cold tone that was so unfamiliar to Hamish.

There was no trace of the warm and soft boy that Hamish had become accustomed to. And not only that, every word that came out of Harry’s mouth seemed to trigger all the hair in Hamish’s to stand on its end. Hamish’s impulses were screaming like mad, only now it wasn’t sexual—it was a warning. Hamish was suddenly on high alert, he could feel his fangs and claws growing longer beyond his control—just as he couldn’t stop making a deep throated growl. Somehow in his subconscious, Hamish’s instinct instructed him to attack Harry—to bite his neck off and tear his head from its body. The image shocked Hamish himself, as he shook his head to shake off the violent impulses.

The footsteps along the hallway suddenly jolted Hamish to reality. He quickly realized that they were all standing in the middle of a crowded hallway filled with kids. Hamish looked around hastily to check if anyone had seen him flashing his fangs or heard his growling. But to his surprise, all of the kids who were passing them hardly noticed, and they bore the same white, foggy eyes as Danny’s.

As if on cue, Danny took his bag from the floor and turned to Harry, “I will go straight to my home”. His eyes were still white when he left them running to the hallway, presumably on his way home, Hamish thought.

Harry spent a moment looking at Danny running through the hallway, as if making sure he was doing exactly what’s instructed. Then, casually, Harry turned his head back to Hamish. Although now, Hamish was not greeted with the usual soft angelic smile and warm glance. Instead, Harry wore a cold and stern expression. His brown eyes were almost black, and they narrowed at Hamish’s green eyes—like piercing into his soul.

“What the fuck are ye?” Hamish snarled.

Harry looked around to check their surroundings. When he was sure that everyone was still oblivious to them, he turned to meet Hamish’s big green eyes.

“You could have hurt him, Hamish”. Harry said coldly, his eyes passing a cruel judgement.

Suddenly Harry’s stench stung Hamish’s nose like it was choking the air out of him. He had never felt this repulsed by someone before. Every inch of him wanted to attack Harry like it was ingrained in his instinct to kill him. Hamish was not even thinking when his free hand jabbed at Harry—with its sharp claws—heading for his jugular. Fortunately, Harry caught it fast enough to stop Hamish from clawing his neck. And now both of Hamish’s hands were locked tightly in Harry’s strong grip.

“We can’t do this here.” Harry said calmly.

Suddenly all the lights along the hall exploded, and the hall was covered in darkness. Weirdly, not one kid in the corridor yelped in shock from the exploding sounds—instead they continued their tracks in the dark like nothing had happened. It also took a moment for Hamish to realize, that not only he could see clearly in the dark; but Harry’s dark brown eyes seemed to light up red like a demon.

“Let’s go somewhere more private”, he whispered.

Then Hamish felt a breeze of cold wind penetrating his skin, all the way deep into his bones. His vision swirled, and his stomach felt like it was being hurled. In a blink of an eye, they were standing in the middle of Hamish’s room; surrounded by his machineries and torn out blueprints. Harry finally let go of Hamish’s hands, and the young Scotsman dropped to the floor—nauseous. His legs felt as weak as rubber. He couldn’t find any strength in him to keep his stance. Hamish coughed up his lungs like his breath had just been vacuumed.

“Sorry about that”. Harry said casually as he walked past Hamish, who was still curling up helpless on the floor, and headed to his bedroom door. “Shadow travel can be a little convenient at first...” continued Harry as he checked the lock on Hamish’s door.

“I almost threw up during my first time too”. Harry turned to Hamish and let out a smirk, but it felt different. This time, Hamish couldn’t help but feel disgusted by it.

Hamish growled in frustration. He could sense anger started to build inside him. It’s starting to burn him from the inside, and he could feel the heat quickly travelling through his veins, wrapping his muscles and bringing strength back to his cells.

Hamish cracked his neck side to side, as his traps tensed. He could feel his polo shirt getting tighter as he straightens himself up. It bothered him so that he ripped it off and set himself free. He glared at Harry, who was standing in front of him in a perfectly calm manner that seemed to trigger more violent rage inside Hamish.

“Who—” Hamish struggled for words as they came out mixed with his growl instead. “—are ye?!”

Harry only dignified him with a polite nod, and turned to walk to the corner side of the room. Hamish howled out a monstrous growl at him—a little part of his mind was shocked by his own actions towards the boy that fell in love with, but whatever feeling he had was buried quickly underneath his wild impulses. The boy lifted a finger at Hamish as he stood in front of Hamish’s broken mirror.

Harry snapped his fingers and suddenly all the broken pieces that was scattered on the floor flown themselves back to the broken frame, like puzzle piecing itself back together. And within second, the broken mirror was as good as new. The whole thing sparked a discomfort and irritation inside Hamish that irked him to every fibre in his muscles. His impulses were screaming for him to attack Harry, just like when the lights in the school corridors started exploding.

“I think…a more appropriate question would be...” Harry turned the mirror to face Hamish. “What are _you_?”

Hamish’s heart skipped a beat as he stared in horror at his own reflection in the mirror. His face has transformed into a monstrous form that made the hair on the back his neck stood on an end. His eyebrows were gone, and were replaced by a thick layer of bones that seemed to push the skin on his temple upward—wildly accentuating his super ciliary arch like a beast. His nasal bone had thicken into a triangle-like shape that sharpened at the tip of his nose. The upper tip of Hamish’s ears had also sharpened, bearing resemblance of dog’s ears.

Hamish wandered closer to the mirror absent-mindedly as his hand traced his face—like he was trying to prove if the reflection was real. He growled in shock when his claws brushed into his own black beard that had grown longer all the way down his neck—connecting it with the hair on his chest that now looked almost like a fur. Not only that, the hair on the back of his neck—all the way through his upper spine—had grown incredibly thicker that it almost covered Hamish’s entire upper back.

Harry quietly stepped aside, letting Hamish sank in the shock of seeing his own beastly image. When the horror subsided, Hamish turned to Harry—whose eyes now glanced with empathy and pity.

“What the fuck is happening to me, Harry?!” Hamish could hear his own voice sounded deeper and raspier, like it was mixed with growl.

Harry bit his lips and let out a sigh. He looked at Hamish almost apologetically and brought his hand up to touch Hamish’s temple in a speed that was almost lost by Hamish’s eyes. The only thing he could remember before the blackout was Harry’s soft voice, echoing inside his mind.

_I’m sorry about this, Hamish._

Hamish mind was suddenly jolted back inside the darkness, like it was being sucked into a black hole. Flashes of images suddenly screened past his mind like it was being replayed. His head hurt so much. He could see Harry, his mother—the moment he kicked his father out of the house, the first day when he changed—then it slowed down and focused.

Hamish was staring into the full moon in the night sky of London. He could remember feeling the attraction—the sense of arousal that tingled his nerves. Hamish remembered this moment, but strange enough he didn’t remember what happened afterwards. The next thing he knew, he was woken up flat on his floor the next morning—bare naked.

Hamish was ready for the vision to blackout and skipped to the morning, but it didn’t—It continued. His vision was fixed on the full moon, like he was hypnotized by it. Then Hamish heard himself screaming. A stabbing pain started to pierce Hamish’s limbs as horrifying sounds of cracking bones emanated from inside him. Hamish felt himself dropping on the floor as his legs cracked.

Hamish tried to get some balance with his hands on the floor, but was shocked when he saw all of the hair on his arms began to thicken and turned into black, shiny fur. Hamish brought his hands up and gasped when the palms started to condense into paws, and his nails fell one by one; and were replaced by growing huge black claws.

Hamish tried to scream, but his voice was replaced by a beastly growl instead. Then a throbbing pain crushed Hamish’s face like it had just been hit by a brick. He struggled to breath as the bones on his face felt like it was being stretched out. He wanted to cry out in pain, but there was nothing he could hear but his own vicious growl. He felt like he was going to die, his mind was spiralling out of control as his claws clutched for his head, trying to rip out the pain.

His face went numb as the pain increased beyond his tolerance. Hamish wanted to give up and surrender his consciousness, but his impulses had pumped up his awareness to the point where he could even hear the brisk of his hair growing into fur all over his body. He could feel the sharp nudge of his fangs on his lips. The last straw of torture was when Hamish’s spine cracked upward like it was about to burst from his skin—sending him howling in agony—while his vertebrate down his back pushed out; forcing Hamish into a hunch-back posture. For a second, Hamish thought he was far gone—or at least crippled with a fractured spine like that. But then the pain subsided, and was replaced by a surging strength and force instead.

The force travelled through every veins in him, sending back power to his sore muscles. Within seconds, Hamish felt himself beginning to recover his ground. He struggled to balance a bit when he stood up, as he looked down and found that his legs structure had changed. Hamish looked around the room—smelling and taking in his surroundings. Then he caught a glance of his own reflection in the mirror. What he saw there would be etched inside his mind and haunted him in his nightmares for the rest of his life. Hamish couldn’t see any part of himself in the reflection, his nose and mouth had morphed into a snout—completed with a set of horrifyingly long fangs protruded out of his mouth. The skin on his face now sported a dark grey shade, and was hardly visible beneath all of hair covering his face. Hamish’s green eyes had turned into a bright terrorizing yellow, and his ears now stood erect, sharp and pointed. The muscles in his body had grown twice bigger and were all covered in thick black fur. Hamish knew the creature looking back at him wasn’t human.

The creature turned its head towards the window—searching the night sky. When he found the full moon, Hamish froze as he listened the haunting howl that came out of his own mouth. The whole thing felt like an outer body experience, he was seeing through the creature’s eyes, but he had no control over his body. The creature jumped outside from the window and leaped itself onto the roofs in the neighbourhood.

Hamish’s vision went back into a blur; it was like he was watching a sped up playback of his memory. When the vision cleared again, Hamish was greeted by a burst of blood spraying in front of him. A dying deer was lying in front of him, his neck looked like it was ripped to pieces. Then the vision blurred again and this time Hamish found two men running in front of him. They were screaming in horror, Hamish felt himself catching up to them. He could hear himself growling at them. Hamish’s heart sank as he dreaded for the worse. He saw his own furry hands grabbing one of the men. He watched himself sinking his claws into the man’s chest and tearing it apart. Then he went for his jugular, and bit off his neck till the head was severed from its body.

He could himself being ruthlessly hungry as his attention switched to the other men still running away in front of him. Hamish left the lifeless man in front of him on the ground and chased the other one in an inhuman speed. Then Hamish slashed his black claws along the man’s back, sending him tumbling on the ground—screaming in agony. As he stared down at the man, he pleaded for him to spare his life. But all Hamish felt was hunger and an overwhelming desire for violence. So he lunged his claws at the man’s chest, breaking open his ribs, and ripped out his heart.

* * *

 

Hamish kneeled and threw up all over the floor as he set his mind back from the darkness. “Did... I really kill those people?!” Hamish quivered under his breath. His green eyes were wide with terror.

Harry set his cold dark eyes on Hamish’s—observing him. “Yes”.

Hamish threw up again. His body couldn’t handle the shock from what he just saw. It explained everything—his transformation, his physical powers.

“What have I... turned into?” Hamish trembled under his breath. He knew the answer, but somehow he couldn’t bear facing it alone.

“You’re a werewolf, Hamish”. Harry said plainly.

The answer made Hamish shuddered. He had turned into a monster. A blood-hungry monster who had killed God-knows how many people. What if he hurt his mom one day? What if he wouldn’t stop killing?! What if he turned others into a monster like him?!

“Oh, God...” A flood of tears ran down Hamish’s face. “Why is this happening to me?!” Hamish scrubbed his face and winced when he felt his claws grazing his skin.

“18 August 1979. At 9.17 pm you were bitten by a man. He was a werewolf—an alpha that had been hunted down by one of my colleagues”. Harry said absently—his voice sounded wooden and detached.

Hamish suddenly remembered. He remembered hearing a man whimpered in pain as he walked through the parking lot. He remembered coming over to help him. He remembered how the man was covered in blood—and he could still feel the pain from his bite. What was it that the man said to him…?

“You’re the alpha now, boy…” Hamish murmured subconsciously.

Harry narrowed his eyes at the remark. “Sorry?”

Hamish looked up, his green eyes now faded with hopelessness. “That’s what he said tae me… the man who bit me…” He bit his lips as another tear dropped from his eyes.

Harry’s eyes suddenly turned stern and wide—his expression grim. “You’re an alpha…” Harry glanced away, his mind juggling the new information.

“How do ye know about these things…? Who are ye really?!” Hamish asked—his mind was finally lucid enough to notice the puzzles.

Harry turned his attention back to Hamish. He’s doing that thing again where he let the moment passed silently between them as he assessed the scenarios—his eyes were sharp on him, and there was tight quirk on his lips.

“My real name is Harry Hart”. He said coldly. “I have been tasked by my organization to assess your _condition_ ”.

Hamish felt like a switch inside him had been flipped. “Ye’re… a werewolf hunter? Are ye here tae kill me?”

“My mission was to assess your condition and determine if you are willing to cooperate with us in managing your condition”, said Harry absently.

“Managing—ye can cure me?” asked Hamish desperately.

“No, I’m afraid your condition is permanent, Hamish” said Harry—there was a fleeting tone of sympathy escaping his voice.

Hamish sunk on the floor, his eyes gazed at the claws on his fingers—the thick hair on his arms. His head wandered to the mirror that Harry fixed. His face was still decorated with thick beard, his chest thick with black hair. It was like he was halfway in transformation to his werewolf form.

“So… I will be a monster all my life?” Hamish said absently. His eyes stared emptily at his reflection in the mirror, but his gaze was far away. “I will spend my life… killing people?”

Harry stepped in front of the mirror, blocking Hamish from seeing his own reflection. “Look at me, Hamish”. Harry said commandingly. Hamish could feel an invisible force swaying his head up towards Harry’s direction.

“I’m not going to let that happen. That’s why I was sent here, Hamish. My organization can help you control your powers”. Harry said.

“Your… organization?” asked Hamish. Everything was still so confusing to him.

“There’s not much time, Hamish. The full moon is two days from now. We need to secure you before you change again into your alpha form”. Harry grew impatient.

“… I will change again into that monster?!” The thought of it made send a cold shiver down Hamish’s spine.

“Yes, and if we don’t get you to control your powers—you _will_ kill again”. Harry said grimly.

Hamish froze as the images of his own hands slashing the throat and ripping hearts out of his victim’s body flashed in his mind. Hamish was only 16. He was still in high school, for God’s sake. It would have never crossed his mind that one day he would turn into a vicious monster who’s bent on killing humans for fun.

Then suddenly both of them were interrupted by the sound of door creaking from the 1st floor. Hamish’s face turned blue, his eyes wide with fear as he looked up to Harry. “Mom…”

“She cannae see me like this. Get me out of here!” Hamish stood up and grabbed Harry’s arms.

“You will cooperate with us to control your powers, then?” Harry said calmly—undisturbed by the scene.

“Y-yes! Just get me out of here! Please!” Hamish grabbed on Harry’s polo shirt, almost tearing it off him.

“As you wish”. Everything went dark again, and Hamish was once again sucked into a whirlpool of blackness.


	7. The Lies

Harry pulled Hamish into the darkness again. And despite having experienced it once, Hamish still couldn’t shake off the feeling of nausea and freezing temperature that was piercing his bones while he’s in the zone. Within a catch of breath, Hamish felt himself thumping on a hard ground—his organs felt like they had just been twisted around. But he could feel that he had come out of whatever magic portal that Harry seemed to travel in, cause the nausea was starting to dissipate and his hands could grab on the solid ground underneath him.

There was the sound of fingers flicking, and Hamish’s eyes were suddenly blinded by a bright neon light. Harry was standing in front of him, in the middle of a white-padded room, his right still hanging halfway in the air. Hamish coughed up the cold air from his lungs as he took in his surroundings. There was a giant rectangular mirror at the right side of the room, with a sink weirdly placed in front of it. Behind where Hamish was crouching laid a steel bed that looked like it had just been brought in from the hospital. At the corner of the room, behind where Harry was standing, Hamish spotted a showerhead hung on the wall. That’s when it hit him, the room was not _just_ a room—it was a cell.

“What is this place?” Hamish gritted under his breath.

“Your room for the night”, Harry said plainly as he glanced around the place. “You’ll find fresh clothes on the bed”. Harry pointed behind Hamish. “Shower’s just right there… and somebody will bring you a nice dinner—“

“Am I being imprisoned?” asked Hamish with a stern tone.

Harry paused and stole a glance at the huge mirror—his eyes checking the reflection, but his gaze seemed far away. Then the boy turned to Hamish with a callous look. “Let’s just say, your _condition_ required a more controlled environment. It’s for everyone’s safety”.

Hamish felt like Harry just stabbed him with a knife. The image of him slashing the neck of his victim with his own claws; and ripping their hearts right out their rig cages blitzed into his mind. He growled and shook his head at the cruel reminder.

“It’s going to be a challenging day for you tomorrow. You should rest”. Harry turned away and walked quietly to the door at the end of the room.

 _Is this it?!_ Hamish protested in his mind. Harry’s just going to leave him like this? After barging into his life like a fallen angel, spoiling him with sweet smiles, and warm affections that Hamish had long forgotten—Harry was just going to pretend like he had not just taken Hamish’s heart with his soft little hand and broke it into pieces?!

“Was any of it ever real?” Hamish voice quivered in anger and heartbreak.

The question stopped Harry. The tall boy stood before the door in silence. The quietness between them stretched torturously. Ever since Harry let out his true power in front of Hamish, every fibre and instinct inside of him had been screaming mad—frenzying Hamish into attacking him. He felt an ingrained sense of hatred and deep abhorrence towards the boy whom he was in love head over heel with—just yesterday. But a small part of him, fought to keep his dark impulses buried as he still hopelessly latched on his affections towards Harry. A part of him still wished… that the first boy that he ever truly loved, didn’t just lie to him and used his feelings for his own gain.

“How could ye do it?!” Hamish shouted. “Why made me think that ye liked me?!”

“You’re my mission, Hamish”. Harry said coldly without even looking back at him. “It was nothing personal”.

Then he opened the door, and went out of the room just almost as quick as he entered Hamish’s life. Leaving Hamish sobbing beneath his deep throated growl; under the cruel bright light of his prison.

 

* * *

 

 

Hamish heard the multiple layers of lock combinations on his door unlocking—there must be at least 6 layers of mechanism in that bloody thing, he thought. The thick contraption finally opened, and in come Harry, dressed in what seemed to be a bespoke dark blue pinstriped double-breasted suit. Once again, Harry presented himself as a different person in front of Hamish. Gone was the unruly brown hair and school uniform. His hair was now neatly slicked back and parted at the side, like those snobs in Eton that Hamish met once in a national math competition. Harry’s brown eyes were now observing him with caution and alert, there was no more of the dewy, angelic big brown eyes that used to stare at Hamish adoringly. Now those eyes were dark and calculating—piercing at him behind a pair of square-frame tortoiseshell glasses.

“Good morning, Hamish”. Harry said as he walked towards him, his tone was formal and polite.

Hamish couldn’t help but marvel a little at how perfectly the suit accentuated Harry’s broad shoulder, all the way down to his ridiculously lean waist. His trousers were also cut flawlessly slim and emphasized the beautiful length of Harry’s legs even more as he graciously paced himself towards Hamish.

“How are you feeling?” Harry’s silky voice sounded posher than Hamish remembered.

“Huh…” Hamish furrowed his brows. “So, even yer accent was fake?” he said sarcastically—almost sullen.

Harry did not dignify him with so much of a tingle in his eyes. His face was as cold as ice, and his glance looked empty—almost emotionless. Instead, he put his hands inside the pockets of his trousers and settled himself to press on.

“A colleague of mine will be joining us to draw some blood samples from you. He’s also hoping to run a few tests—”Harry’s eyes stole a quick glance to the huge mirror at the right side of the room again. Hamish scoffed in silence as his guess was proven right, the bloody thing was a one-way mirror after all. “I’m here to inquire if you would oblige to cooperate with the proceedings”.

Hamish felt his claws itching, like they were begging him to set their razor-sharp surfaces into Harry’s skin. He couldn’t help but feel disgusted and betrayed at the very presence of Harry—towering in front of him like he’s a goddamn royalty. The cold formalities in his tone, all the changes in his looks—they only reminded Hamish of all the lies and deceptions that Harry had sweetly planted on him. Toying with his feelings only to gain Hamish’s most kept secrets—which was nothing but detailed information for him and his secret organization to assess just how potentially dangerous Hamish could be.

“Do I even have a choice?” Hamish snorted.

Harry took a moment to let the silence rest between them before voicing his reply—Hamish couldn’t figure out why, but the bloody exchange annoyed him to bits.

“I am required to inform you that, you do have the privilege to decline cooperation. _However_ …” Harry took a few steps closer to Hamish, and his claws suddenly grew longer in reflex. The motion didn’t escape Harry’s piercing dark eyes as his pace grown more calculating the closer he got to Hamish. “We believe that by cooperating with us on the tests, you will gain useful information about your transformation—insights on how to better control your impulses, perhaps. So, it’s hardly an offer you can refuse”.

Hamish glared at Harry with a vicious look. He was sure that he must be halfway transformed by now. He could feel the brisk from his growing beard, and the sharp nudge of his fangs. His deep breaths turned into low deep throated growls as he stood and levelled his eyes at Harry.

“I’ll let yer colleague run his bloody tests on me”. Hamish snarled—his voice was already changing to a heavier and deeper sound. “But I want ye tae know that it’s not because _ye_ asked me…” He closed on Harry, owning the space between them till his harsh breath viciously grazed the agent’s skin. Hamish bared his fangs, and as if in command, they grew longer right in front of Harry’s face. “It’s because I dinnae want anyone tae turn into a monster like me”.

To Hamish’s disappointment, Harry stood like a statue and was hardly moved by his threatening gesture. His eyes were still staring stiffly into Hamish’s. The faint lines on his face stayed placid on the surface of Harry’s porcelain skin. Annoyed, Hamish turned his head to the one-way mirror and saw his own transformed reflection. Only now he wasn’t surprised anymore. He’d already seen himself in his werewolf form, this half-transformation was hardly a shock to him now.

“Do ye need me tae get rid of this before yer colleague comes in?” He huffed, gesturing to his half-transformed reflection in the mirror.

“No”. Harry said plainly. “On the contrary, we think it might help make the test results more accurate. So, do keep it up”.

Harry turned towards the door. “You may come in, Merlin”.

The door opened to reveal two middle aged men waiting behind it. The first man was dressed in the same double-breasted suit as Harry, but his was dark brown with brick-coloured lines decorating the fabric. His hair was blond and wavy—but cut short enough to prevent the curls from being out of place. Placed on the bridge of his nose was the same squared-frame glasses as Harry’s. He walked inside the room with a breeze of confidence and condescending elegance that rivalled Harry—except this older gentleman lacked Harry’s natural grace and finesse.

“Arthur!” Harry was visibly caught off guard as he let out his first word that actually sounded like it reflected his emotion.

“Galahad”. The older man nodded at Harry with a coy smile.

“What are you doing here, sir?” Harry’s tone almost sounded like he was worried.

“Just want to welcome our guest, of course”. He turned his glance at Hamish and smiled.

To Hamish and Harry’s surprise, the old man walked towards Hamish and offered his hand for a welcoming handshake. Hamish could see Harry’s tightly guarded look in the tip of his eyes. His hands tensing, his eyes locked on the handshake shared by Hamish and the old man.

“Hello, Mr. Brodie. It’s good to finally meet you. I’m Arthur”. The old man tried to form a genuine smile, but Hamish could see through the mask. The man stank of treachery and deceit.

They shared a short handshake—brief enough to guard the old man from any sudden wild moves that Hamish might make, but long enough not to feel rude.

“Ye’re his boss?” Hamish made a gesture at Harry.

The old man chuckled softly. “To some capacity, yes, I am”. He turned to Harry who looked like he couldn’t wait to get the old man out of there. The old man smirked at him in reply. “But God knows no one can _really_ make Lord Hart do anything he does not approve of”.

 _Lord Hart_. Hamish rolled his eyes. Of course Harry Hart was a fucking noble. _Moved from Manchester, my arse_. He gritted his teeth. He sullenly wondered whatever else did Harry lie to him.

“Who are ye all really?” Hamish gritted his teeth in vexation.

“We are the Kingsman”. Arthur said aloud as if the name deserved some sort of applaud. “An independent international intelligence agency operating at the highest level of discretion. Without the politics and bureaucracy that undermine the intelligence of government-run spy organisations.” Arthur continued and adding a smug smile on his face. “Our suit is the modern gentleman's armour. And the Kingsman agents are the new knights.” He said while gesturing his hand at Harry.

“Ye’re a spy?” Hamish tilted his head at Harry and back to Arthur. “What’s a spy business with werewolves?”

Arthur chuckles softly. “Individuals with power such as yours would be wasted in the hands of government. Kingsman, on the other hand, recognizes that not only can your power be controlled—it could also be used for the greater good.”

“That’s why you’re here, Mr. Brodie. We want to help you control and harness your power”, said Arthur with a smile. Interestingly enough, Harry didn’t look impressed at the back.

“Which brings us to this gentleman here”. Arthur had walked towards the door and stood beside the other middle aged man that came with him.

The men looked around 50, with a full set of neatly trimmed white hair. He was wearing a glasses too, but different than the one worn by Harry and Arthur. His was a black horn-rimmed half frame glasses. And unlike Arthur and Harry, the man was only wearing a suede-panelled grey wool sweater with white shirt and black tie underneath.

“This is Merlin. The head of our tech & research department.” Said Arthur as he tapped his hand on Merlin’s shoulder. “He will be helping you assess your condition, and prepare you for your transformation tomorrow”. Merlin nodded at Hamish after the introduction. He held a grey clipboard in his hand.

“Now, Mr. Brodie. I shall not waste anymore of your time. I’ll leave you in the good hands of Merlin here”. He gave Hamish his parting smile, and headed out of the door.

Merlin and Harry shared a look after the door was closed behind Arthur and the 6 lock combinations worked its mechanism. Harry lifted his arm and gestured for Merlin to proceed. Merlin swiftly walked towards Hamish and extended his hand for a handshake.

“Hello, Mr. Brodie. My name is Merlin”. The man smiled and Hamish could hear a thick Welsh accent in his voice.

Hamish took his hand and shook it firmly. He could see the old man wincing a bit at the strength of his handshake. “Sorry!” said Hamish guiltily and quickly letting go of his hand.

“That’s quite alright, Mr. Brodie. We’ll help you work on that later on”, he chuckled.

It was only later that Hamish realized that Harry was standing close behind Merlin, his hand clutched and ready. They spent the afternoon with Merlin taking blood and hair samples from Hamish. The old man politely asking detailed questions about Hamish’s phases of transformation, the sequence of the physical changes—and also his behaviour changes. How he felt and reacted to sexual and aggressive triggers around him. The new powers that Hamish had discovered so far. All the while Harry just stood behind the room, far enough not to intrude on the conversation between him and Merlin—but close enough to watch over and keep Merlin safe from Hamish.

“What about Harry?” Merlin asked innocently.

“What?!” Hamish’s reply came out louder than he intended.

“How do you feel around him?” Merlin pressed on.

Hamish’s face turned into a sullen scowl. He involuntarily whispered a growl.

“Oh no, I meant, how do your impulses react when Harry used his powers? Can you sense it?” Merlin corrected his query when he heard the growl.

“His powers?” Hamish’s head turned to Harry, who was avoiding his glance and standing awkwardly behind them. “You have powers tae? Are ye the same as me?”

Harry glared at Merlin and was visibly uncomfortable. “No”. He answered hesitantly. “Let’s focus this assessment on _him_ , Merlin. We don’t have much time”.

“Of course, Galahad”, said Merlin. “Galahad’s right Mr. Brodie…” He turned to Hamish. “We need to focus on your assessment. Now as I said, did you feel any particular impulses or triggers around him?”

“Not before yesterday” said Hamish. “But his smell… was different when he stopped me from attacking Danny yesterday…” He remembered.

“Somehow I couldn’t stand his stench… he reeked of… blood…” Hamish looked up to see Harry. The agent was observing him intently with his big brown eyes—he looked almost insulted that Hamish managed to sense whatever he really was.

“Then when he exploded the lights… something inside me flipped… like... a warning. It told me to attack him...” Hamish could hear himself breathing out a growl as he remembered the sensation.

“I wanted nothing but to rip his neck off with my bare hand”, continued Hamish as he flashed his fangs at Harry.

There was a tense silence between the three of them. Hamish could feel his body heating up again. Merlin was on high alert. But Harry kept his emotionless facade in front of him.

“Okay... I think we’re good for the day”. Merlin finally breaking the suspenseful silence between them.

He stood up and nodded at Harry, and was replied with the same gesture. Then Merlin turned to Hamish with a warm smile. “Thank you for your cooperation today, Mr. Brodie”.

Hamish flushed, he suddenly felt rude to act the way he did in front of Merlin, who had been nothing but kind.

“Before I go, I shall tell you on how we are planning to handle your transformation tomorrow”, said Merlin—his face turned serious.

“We will transport you to a prepared & secured location—far away from the city—to minimize casualty, should things go south”. Merlin sighed, as if the risk was a little too much that he bore to handle.

“Galahad will be responsible in guiding you through your transformation” said Merlin as he gestured at Harry. “I should also tell you, that our most important goal tomorrow is to tap into your human consciousness while you are in your werewolf form”. Merlin continued.

“We have great confidence by achieving it, you will have control over your full consciousness and power even when you’re in werewolf form. This way, you won’t pose any harm to anyone even when you change”. Merlin stole a glance at Harry, as if checking if his explanation was good enough for him. But the stoic agent only replied him with a cold stare.

Hamish scoffed. “You’re only going to send _only_ him?! _One_ man?! I think you underestimated just how monstrous and powerful I can be when I change. I would rip him off to pieces in the first minute.”

Merlin was about to reply, but Harry raise his hand in front of the old man to stop him. “You needn’t worry about that, Hamish. I assure you we have assessed every possible risks and scenarios”. Harry said plainly—there was nothing in his voice that could give Hamish any comfort.

“What if you fail?” asked Hamish—his big green eyes narrowed at Harry.

He’s still viciously angry at Harry for lying to him and exploiting his feelings. And he hated so much that Harry did not even seem to have any remorse about the whole thing. But despite everything, his feelings towards Harry was real. He could still remember the butterflies in his stomach every time Harry smiled at him. Despite everything, he wouldn’t want to be the one violently ending his life.

“I won’t”. For a second, Hamish recognized the glance in Harry’s eyes. That soft and calming brown that had kindly cheered him this past week.

Hamish could feel that Harry felt the same connection. The silence between them lingered a bit longer than he intended. When Harry realized, he broke his glance and turned to Merlin.

“We should let him rest”. He whispered.

Merlin nodded and turned to Hamish. “Right. We’ll let you rest now, Mr. Brodie. See you tomorrow!”

The old man waved and smile before heading out the door, but Harry left without so much of a cold glance.


End file.
